The 

Cardinal'. 
Snuff 
Box 


By  Henry 
Harland 


3  : 


The  CARDINAL  S 

S  N  U  F  F-B  O  X 

By  HENRY  HARLAND 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

NEW    YORK 


Copyright,  1900 
By  JOHN  LANE 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


<c  THE  Signorino  will  take  coffee  ? "  old  Mari 
etta  asked,  as  she  set  the  fruit  before  him. 

Peter  deliberated  for  a  moment ;  then  burned 
his  ships. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"  But  in  the  garden,  perhaps  ? "  the  little 
brown  old  woman  suggested,  with  a  persua 
sive  flourish. 

"  No,"  he  corrected  her,  gently  smiling,  and 
shaking  his  head,  "  not  perhaps  —  certainly." 

Her  small,  sharp  old  black  Italian  eyes 
twinkled,  responsive. 

"  The  Signorino  will  find  a  rustic  table, 
under  the  big  willow-tree,  at  the  water's  edge," 
she  informed  him,  with  a  good  deal  of  gesture. 
"Shall  I  serve  it  there?" 

"  Where  you  will.  I  leave  myself  entirely 
in  your  hands,"  he  said. 

I 


The  Cardinal's  Sriuff-Box 

So  he  sat  by  the  rustic  table,  on  a  rustic 
bench,  under  the  willow,  sipped  his  coffee, 
smoked  his  cigarette,  and  gazed  in  contem 
plation  at  the  view. 

Of  its  kind,  it  was  rather  a  striking  view. 

In  the  immediate  foreground  —  at  his  feet, 
indeed  —  there  was  the  river,  the  narrow  Aco, 
peacock-green,  a  dark  file  of  poplars  on  either 
bank,  rushing  pell-mell  away  from  the  quiet 
waters  of  the  lake.  Then,  just  across  the 
river,  at  his  left,  stretched  the  smooth  lawns 
of  the  park  of  Ventirose,  with  glimpses  of 
the  many-pinnacled  castle  through  the  trees ; 
and,  beyond,  undulating  country,  flourishing, 
friendly,  a  perspective  of  vineyards,  cornfields, 
groves,  and  gardens,  pointed  by  numberless 
white  villas.  At  his  right  loomed  the  gaunt 
mass  of  the  Gnisi,  with  its  black  forests,  its 
bare  crags,  its  foaming  cascade,  and  the  crene 
lated  range  of  the  Cornobastone ;  and  finally, 
climax  and  cynosure,  at  the  valley's  end, 
Monte  Sfiorito,  its  three  snow-covered  sum 
mits  almost  insubstantial-seeming,  floating 
forms  of  luminous  pink  vapour,  in  the  even 
ing  sunshine,  against  the  intense  blue  of  the 
sky. 

I 


The  Cardinal's  SnufF-Box 

A  familiar  verse  had  come  into  Peter's  mind, 
and  kept  running  there  obstinately. 

"Really,"  he  said  to  himself,  " feature  for 
feature,  down  to  the  very  'cataract  leaping  in 
glory/  the  scene  might  have  been  got  up,  apres 
coup,  to  illustrate  it."  And  he  began  to  re 
peat  the  beautiful  hackneyed  words,  under  his 
breath.  .  .  . 

But  about  midway  of  the  third  line  he  was 
interrupted. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


I! 


"Ir's  not  altogether  a  bad  sort  of  view — is 
it  ?  "  some  one  said,  in  English. 

The  voice  was  a  woman's.  It  was  clear  and 
smooth  ;  it  was  crisp-cut,  distinguished. 

Peter  glanced  about  him. 

On  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Aco,  in  the 
grounds  of  Ventirose,  five  or  six  yards  away, 
a  lady  was  standing,  looking  at  him,  smiling. 

Peter's  eyes  met  hers,  took  in  her  face.  .  .  „ 
And  suddenly  his  heart  gave  a  jump.  Then 
it  stopped  dead  still,  tingling,  for  a  second. 
Then  it  flew  off,  racing  perilously.  —  Oh,  for 
reasons  —  for  the  best  reasons  in  the  world : 
but  thereby  hangs  my  tale. 

She  was  a  young  woman,  tall,  slender,  in  a 
white  frock,  with  a  white  cloak,  an  indescrib~ 
able  complexity  of  soft  lace  and  airy  ruffles, 
round  her  shoulders.  She  wore  no  hat.  Her 
hair,  brown  and  warm  in  shadow,  sparkled, 

to 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

where  it  caught  the  light,  in  a  kind  of  crinkly 
iridescence,  like  threads  of  glass. 

Peter's  heart  (for  the  best  reasons  in  the 
world)  was  racing  perilously.  c*  It  *s  impos 
sible  —  impossible —  impossible  "  —  the  words 
strummed  themselves  to  its  rhythm.  Peter's 
wits  (for  had  not  the  impossible  come  to  pass  ?) 
were  in  a  perilous  confusion.  But  he  managed  to 
rise  from  his  rustic  bench,  and  to  achieve  a  bow. 

She  inclined  her  head  graciously. 

"  You  do  not  think  it  altogether  bad  —  I 
hope  ?  "  she  questioned,  in  her  crisp-cut  voice, 
raising  her  eyebrows  slightly^  with  a  droll  little 
assumption  of  solicitude. 

Peter's  wits  were  in  confusion;  but  he  must 
answer  her.  An  automatic  second-self,  sum 
moned  by  the  emergency,  answered  for  him. 

"  I  think  one  might  safely  call  it  altogether 
good." 

"Oh  —  ?  "  she  exclaimed 

Her  eyebrows  went  up  again,  but  now  they 
expressed  a  certain  whimsical  surprise*  She 
threw  back  her  head,  and  regarded  the  pros 
pect  critically. 

"  It  is  not,  then,  too  spectacular,  too  vio 
lent  ? "  she  wondered,  returning  her  gaze  to 


The  Cardinal's  SnufF-Box 

Peter,  with  an  air  of  polite  readiness  to  defer 
to  his  opinion.  "  Not  too  much  like  a  decor 
de  theatre  ?  " 

"  One  should  judge  it,"  his  automatic  sec 
ond-self  submitted,  "  with  some  leniency.  It 
is,  after  all,  only  unaided  Nature." 

A  spark  flickered  in  her  eyes,  while  she  ap 
peared  to  ponder.  (But  I  am  not  sure  whether 
she  was  pondering  the  speech  or  its  speaker.) 

"  Really  ?  "  she  said,  in  the  end.  "  Did  — 
did  Nature  build  the  villas,  and  plant  the 
cornfields  ? " 

But  his  automatic  second-self  was  on  its 
mettle. 

"Yes,"  it  asserted  boldly;  "the  kind  of 
men  who  build  villas  and  plant  cornfields  must 
be  classified  as  natural  forces." 

She  gave  a  light  little  laugh  —  and  again 
appeared  to  ponder  for  a  moment. 

Then,  with  another  gracious  inclination  of 
the  head,  and  an  interrogative  brightening  of 
the  eyes,  "  Mr.  Marchdale  —  no  doubt  ?  "  she 
hazarded. 

Peter  bowed. 

c<  I  am  very  glad  if,  on  the  whole,  you  like 
our  little  effect,"  she  went  on,  glancing  in  the 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

direction  of  Monte  Sfiorito.  "  1  '*  —  there  was 
the  briefest  suspension  —  "I  am  your  land 
lady." 

For  a  third  time  Peter  bowed,  a  rather 
more  elaborate  bow  than  his  earlier  ones,  a 
bow  of  respectful  enlightenment,  of  feudal 
homage. 

cc  You  arrived  this  afternoon  ? "  she  con 
jectured. 

"By  the  five- twenty-five  from  Bergamo/* 
said  he. 

"  A  very  convenient  train,'*  she  remarked ; 
and  then,  in  the  pleasantest  manner,  whereby 
the  unusual  mode  of  valediction  was  carried 
off,  "  Good  evening." 

"Good  evening,"  responded  Peter,  and  ac 
complished  his  fourth  bow. 

She  moved  away  from  the  river,  up  the 
smooth  lawns,  between  the  trees,  towards 
Castel  Ventirose,  a  flitting  whiteness  amid  the 
surrounding  green. 

Peter  stood  stili,  looking  after  her. 

But  when  she  was  out  of  sight,  he  sank  back 
upon  his  rustic  bench,  like  a  man  exhausted, 
and  breathed  a  prodigious  sigh.  He  was 
absurdly  pale.  All  the  same,  clenching  his 


The  Cardinal's  Snuft-Box 

fists,  and  softly  pounding  the  table  with  thenij 
he  muttered  exultantly,  between  his  teeth, 
"What  luck!  What  incredible  luck!  It's 
she  —  it 's  shey  as  I  'm  a  heathen.  Oh,  what 
supernatural  luck  1 " 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff~Box 


III 

OLD  Marietta  —  the  bravest  of  small  figures, 
in  her  neat  black-and-white  peasant  dress,  with 
her  silver  ornaments,  and  her  red  silk  coif  and 
apron  —  came  for  the  coffee  things. 

But  at  sight  of  Peter,  she  abruptly  halted. 
She  struck  an  attitude  of  alarm.  She  fixed 
him  with  her  fiery  little  black  eyes. 

"  The  Signorino  is  not  well !  "  she  cried,  in 
the  tones  of  one  launching  a  denunciation. 

Peter  roused  himself. 

"  Er  —  yes  —  I  'm  pretty  well,  thank  you,'* 
he  reassured  her.  "  I  —  I  'm  only  dying,"  he 
added,  sweetly,  after  an  instant's  hesitation. 

"  Dying  —  !  "  echoed  Marietta,  wild,  aghast. 

"  Ah,  but  you  can  save  my  life  —  you  come 
*n  the  very  nick  of  time/'  he  said.  "I'm 
dying  of  curiosity —  dying  to  know  something 
that  you  can  tell  me." 

Her  stare  dissolved,  her  attitude  relaxed. 
She  smiled  —  relief,  rebuke.  She  shook  her 
finger  at  himc 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Ah,  the  Signorino  gave  me  a  fine  fright," 
she  said. 

"  A  thousand  regrets/'  said  Peter.  "  Now 
be  a  succouring  angel,  and  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it.  Who  is  my  landlady  ?  " 

Marietta  drew  back  a  little.  Her  brown  old 
visage  wrinkled  up,  perplexed. 

"  Who  is  the  Signorino's  landlady  ? "  she 
repeated. 

"  Ang,"  said  he,  imitating  the  characteristic 
nasalised  eh  of  Italian  affirmation,  and  accom 
panying  it  by  the  characteristic  Italian  jerk  of 
the  head. 

Marietta  eyed  him,  still  perplexed  —  even 
(one  might  have  fancied)  a  bit  suspicious. 

"  But  is  it  not  in  the  Signorino's  lease  ? " 
she  asked,  with  caution. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  he.  "That's  just 
the  point.  Who  is  she?" 

"But  if  it  is  in  your  lease!"  she  expostu 
lated. 

"All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  make 
no  secret  of  it,"  he  argued  plausibly.  "  Come ! 
Out  with  it  Z  Who  is  my  landlady  ?  " 

Marietta  exchanged  a  glance  with  heaven. 

w  The  Signorino's  landlady  is  the  Duchessa 
vi 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

di  Santangiolo,"  she   answered,  in  accents  of 
resignation. 

But  then  the  name  seemed  to  stimulate  her; 
and  she  went  on  — • 

ccShe  lives  there —  at  Caste!  Ventirose." 
Marietta  pointed  towards  the  castle.  "  She 
owns  all,  all  this  country,  all  these  houses  — 
all,  all."  Marietta  joined  her  brown  old  hands 
together,  and  separated  them,  like  a  swimmer, 
in  a  gesture  that  swept  the  horizon.  Her  eyes 
snapped. 

"All    Lombardy?"    said    Peter,    without 
emotion. 

Marietta  stared  again. 

"  All  Lombardy  ?  Mache  !  "  was  her  scorn 
ful  remonstrance.  "  Nobody  owns  all  Lom 
bardy.  All  these  lands,  these  houses." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

Marietta's  eyes  blinked,  in  stupefaction 
before  such  stupidity. 

"  But  I  have  just  told  you,"  she  cried 
"  She  is  the  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo." 

"  Who  is  the  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo  ? " 
he  asked. 

Marietta,  blinking  harder,  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

cc  But "  —  she  raised  her  voice,  screamed 
almost,  as  to  one  deaf — "but  the  Duchessa 
di  Santangiolo  is  the  Signorino's  landlady  — 
la>  prcprietaria  di  tutte  quest e  terre,  tutte  quest e 
casey  tutte,  tutte" 

And  she  twice,  with  some  violence,  re 
acted  her  comprehensive  gesture,  like  a  swim 
mer's. 

"  You  evade  me  by  a  vicious  circle,"  Peter 
murmured. 

Marietta  made  a  mighty  effort- — brought  all 
her  faculties  to  a  focus  —  studied  Peter's  coun 
tenance  intently.  Her  own  was  suddenly 
illumined. 

"  Ah,  I  understand,"  she  proclaimed,  vigor 
ously  nodding.  "The  Signorino  desires  to 
know  who  she  is  personally  !  " 

"  1  express  myself  in  obscure  paraphrases,^ 
said  he;  "  but  you,  with  your  unfailing  Italian 
simpatia,  have  divined  the  exact  shade  of  my 
intention." 

"  She  is  the  widow  of  the  Duca  di  Santan 
giolo,"  said  Marietta. 

u  Enfin  vous  entrsz  dans  la  vote  de*  aveux" 
said  Peter. 

**$cusi?"  said  Marietta,, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  she  is  a  widow/*  said  he. 
"  She  —  she  might  strike  a  casual  observer  as 
somewhat  young,  for  a  widow." 

"  She  is  not  very  old,"  agreed  Marietta ; 
"  only  twenty-six,  twenty-seven.  She  was  mar 
ried  from  the  convent.  That  was  eight,  nine 
years  ago.  The  Duca  has  been  dead  five  or 


six." 


"  And  was  he  also  young  and  lovely  ? " 
Peter  asked. 

"Young  and  lovely!  MacKe!"  derided 
Marietta.  "  He  was  past  forty.  He  was  fat. 
But  he  was  a  good  man." 

"So  much  the  better  for  him  now,"  said  Peter, 

tt  Gia"  approved  Marietta,  and  solemnly 
made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross. 

"  But  will  you  have  the  kindness  to  explain 
to  me,"  the  young  man  continued,  "  how  it 
happens  that  the  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo 
speaks  English  as  well  as  I  do  ? " 

The  old  woman  frowned  surprise. 

"  Come  ?  She  speaks  English  ?  " 

"  For  all  the  world  like  an  Englishman," 
asseverated  Peter. 

"Ah,  well,"  Marietta  reflected,  "she  was 
English,  you  know/' 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Oho!"  exclaimed  Peter.  "She  was 
English  !  Was  she  f  "  He  bore  a  little  on 
the  tense  of  the  verb.  "  That  lets  in  a  flood 
of  light.  And  —  and  what,  by  the  bye,  is  she 
now  ?  "  he  questioned. 

"  Ma  !  Italian,  naturally,  since  she  married 
the  Duca,"  Marietta  replied. 

"  Indeed  ?  Then  the  leopard  can  change 
his  spots  ?  "  was  Peter's  inference. 

"  The  leopard  ?  "  said  Marietta,  at  a  loss. 

"  If  the  Devil  may  quote  Scripture  for  his 
purpose,  why  may  n't  I  ? "  Peter  demanded. 
"  At  all  events,  the  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo  is 
a  very  beautiful  woman." 

"The  Signorino  has  seen  her?"  Marietta 
asked. 

"  I  have  grounds  for  believing  so.  An  ap 
parition—a  phantom  of  delight  —  appeared 
on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  tumultuous  Aco, 
and  announced  herself  as  my  landlady.  Of 
course,  she  may  have  been  an  impostor — but 
she  made  no  attempt  to  get  the  rent.  A  tall 
woman,  in  white,  with  hair,  and  a  figure,  and  a 
voice  like  cooling  streams,  and  an  eye  that  can 
speak  volumes  with  a  look." 

Marietta  nodded  recognition. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  That  would  be  the  Duchessa." 

"  She  's  a  very  beautiful  duchessa,"  reiterated 
Peter. 

Marietta  was  Italian.  So,  Italian- wise,  she 
answered,  "  We  are  all  as  God  makes  us/' 

"  For  years  I  have  thought  her  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  Europe,"  Peter  averred. 

Marietta  opened  her  eyes  wide. 

"  For  years  ?  The  Signorino  knows  her  ? 
The  Signorino  has  seen  her  before  ?  " 

A  phrase  came  back  to  him  from  a  novel 
he  had  been  reading  that  afternoon  in  the  train. 
He  adapted  it  to  the  occasion. 

"  I  rather  think  she  is  my  long-lost  brother." 

"  Brother  —  ?  "  faltered  Marietta. 

"  Well,  certainly  not  sister,"  said  Peter,  with 
determination.  "You  have  my  permission  to 
take  away  the  coffee  thingSo" 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


IV 


UP  at  the  castle,  in  her  rose-and- white  bou 
doir,  Beatrice  was  writing  a  letter,  to  a  friend 
in  England. 

"  Villa  Floriano,"  she  wrote,  among  other 
words,  "  has  been  let  to  an  Englishman  —  a 
youngish,  presentable-looking  creature,  in  a 
dinner-jacket,  with  a  tongue  in  his  head,  and 
an  indulgent  eye  for  Nature  —  named  Peter 
March  dale.  Do  you  happen  by  any  chance 
to  know  who  he  is,  or  anything  about  him  ?  " 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


PETER  very  likely  slept  but  little,  that  first 
night  at  the  villa ;  and  more  than  once,  I  fancy, 
he  repeated  to  his  pillow  his  pious  ejaculation 
of  the  afternoon  :  "What  luck  !  What  super 
natural  luck!  "  He  was  up,  in  any  case,  at  an 
unconscionable  hour  next  morning  —  up,  and 
down  in  his  garden. 

"  It  really  is  a  surprisingly  jolly  garden,"  he 
confessed.  "  The  agent  was  guiltless  of  exag 
geration,  and  the  photographs  were  not  the 
perjuries  one  feared." 

There  were  some  fine  old  trees,  lindens, 
acacias,  chestnuts,  a  flat-topped  Lombardy 
pine,  a  darkling  ilex,  besides  the  willow  that 
overhung  the  river,  and  the  poplars  that  stiffly 
stood  along  its  border.  Then  there  was  the 
peacock-blue  river  itself,  dancing  and  singing 
as  it  sped  away,  with  a  thousand  diamonds 
flashing  on  its  surface  —  floating,  sinking,  ris 
ing — where  the  sun  caught  its  ripples.  There 
were  some  charming  bits  of  greensward.  There 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

was  a  fountain,  plashing  melodious  coolness, 
in  a  nimbus  of  spray  which  the  sun  touched 
to    rainbow  pinks  and  yellows.     There  were 
vivid   parterres  of  flowers,  begonia  and  gera 
nium.     There  were  oleanders,  with  their  heady 
southern   perfume;    there  were    pomegranate- 
blossoms,  like  knots  of  scarlet  crepe;    there 
were  white  carnations,  sweet-peas,  heliotrope, 
mignonette;   there  were  endless  roses.     And 
there  were  birds,   birds,   birds.      Everywhere 
you  heard  their  joyous  piping,  the  busy  flutter 
of  their  wings.     There  were  goldfinches,  black 
birds,  thrushes,  with  their  young  —  the  plump 
est,  clumsiest,  ruffle-feathered  little  blunderers, 
at  the  age  ingrat*  just  beginning  to  fly,  a  ter 
rible  anxiety  to  their  parents  — -  and.  there  were 
also  (I   regret  to  own)  a  good   many  rowdy 
sparrows.     There  were  bees  and  bumble-bees ; 
there  were  brilliant,  dangerous-looking  dragon- 
flies;   there   were   butterflies,   blue   ones   and 
white  ones,  fluttering  in  couples;    there  were 
also  (I  am  afraid)  a  good  many  gadflies  — but 
che  volete?     Who  minds  a  gadfly  or  two  in 
Italy  ?     On  the  other  side  of  the  house  there 
were  fig-trees  and  peach-trees,  and  artichokes 
holding  their  heads  high  in  rigid  rows;   and 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

a  vine,  heavy  with  great  clusters  of  yellow 
grapes,  was  festooned  upon  the  northern  wall. 

The  morning  air  was  ineffably  sweet  and 
keen  —  penetrant,  tonic,  with  moist,  racy  smells, 
the  smell  of  the  good  brown  earth,  the  smelf 
of  green  things  and  growing  things.  The 
dew  was  spread  over  the  grass  like  a  veil  of 
silver  gossamer,  spangled  with  crystals.  The 
friendly  country  westward,  vineyards  and  white 
villas,  laughed  in  the  sun  at  the  Gnisi,  sulking 
black  in  shadow  to  the  east.  The  lake  lay 
deep  and  still,  a  dark  sapphire.  And  away 
at  the  valley's  end,  Monte  Sfiorito,  always 
insubstantial-seeming,  showed  pale  blue-grey, 
upon  a  sky  in  which  still  lingered  some  of 
the  flush  of  dawn. 

It  was  a  surprisingly  jolly  garden,  true 
enough.  But  though  Peter  remained  in  it  all 
day  long  —  though  he  haunted  the  riverside, 
and  cast  a  million  desirous  glances,  between 
the  trees,  and  up  the  lawns,  towards  Castel 
Ventirose  —  he  enjoyed  no  briefest  vision  of 
the  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo. 

Nor  the  next  day  ;  nor  the  next. 

"  Why  does  n't  that  old  dowager  ever  come 
down  and  look  after  her  river?"  he  asked 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Marietta,  "  For  all  the  attention  she  gives 
it,  the  water  might  be  undermining  her  prop 
erty  on  both  sides/* 

"That  old  dowager — *f™  repeated  Mari 
etta,  blank. 

"That  old  widow  woman  —  my  landlady 
• — the  Duchessa  Vedova  di  Santangiolo." 

**  She  is  not  very  old  —  only  twenty-six, 
twenty-seven,"  said  Marietta, 

fe-  Don't  try  to  persuade  me  that  she  is  n't  old 
enough  to  know  better/'  retorted  Peter,  sternly, 

c*  But  she  has  her  guards,  her  keepers,  to 
look  after  her  property,"  said  Marietta^ 

"  Guards  and  keepers  are  mere  mercenaries. 
If  you  want  a  thing  well  done,  you  should 
do  it  yourself,"  said  Peter,  with  gloomy 
sententiousness. 

On  Sunday  he  went  to  the  little  grey  rococo 
parish  church.  There  were  two  Masses,  one 
at  eight  o'clock,  one  at  ten  —  and  the  church 
was  quite  a  mile  from  Villa  Floriano,  and  up 
a  hill;  and  the  Italian  sun  was  hot  —  but  ths 
devoted  young  man  went  to  both. 

The  Duchessa  was  at  neither. 

"  What  does  she  think  will  become  of  her 
immortal  soul?"  he  asked  Marietta, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

On  Monday  he  went  to  the  pink-stuccoed 
village  post-office. 

Before  the  post-office  door  a  smart  little 
victoria,  with  a  pair  of  sprightly,  fine-limbed 
French  bays,  was  drawn  up,  ducal  coronets 
emblazoned  on  its  panels. 

Peter's  heart  began  to  beat. 

And  while  he  was  hesitating  on  the  door 
step,  the  door  opened,  and  the  Duchessa  came 
forth  —  tall,  sumptuous,  in  white,  with  a 
wonderful  black-plumed  hat,  and  a  wonderful 
white-frilled  sunshade,  She  was  followed  by 
a^  young  girl  — a  pretty,  dark-complexioned 
girl,  of  fourteen,  fifteen  perhaps,  with  pleasant 
brown  eyes  (that  lucent  Italian  brown),  and 
in  her  cheeks  a  pleasant  hint  of  red  (that 
covert  Italian  red,  which  seems  to  glow  through 
the  thinnest  film  of  satin). 

Peter  bowed,  standing  aside  to  let  them 
pass. 

But  when  he  looked  up,  the  Duchessa  had 
stopped,  and  was  smiling  on  him, 

His  heart  beat  harder. 

c<  A  lovely  day,"  said  the  Duchessa, 

"Delightful,"  agreed  Peter,  between  two 
heart-beats,  —  Yet  he  looked,  in  his  grey  flan- 


Ine  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

nels,  with  his  straw-hat  and  his  eyeglass,  with 
his  lean  face,  his  even  colour,  his  slightly  su 
percilious  moustaches  —  he  looked  a  very  em 
bodiment  of  cool-blooded  English  equanimity. 

"  A  trifle  warm,  perhaps  ? "  the  Duchessa 
suggested,  with  her  air  of  polite  (or  was  it  in 
some  part  humorous  ?)  readiness  to  defer  to 
his  opinion. 

"  But  surely,"  suggested  he,  "  in  Italy,  in 
summer,  it  is  its  bounden  duty  to  be  a  trifle 
warm  ? " 

The  Duchessa  smiled. 

"You  like  it?  So  do  I.  But  what  the 
country  really  needs  is  rain." 

"Then  let  us  hope,"  said  he,  "that  the 
country's  real  needs  may  remain  unsatisfied." 

The  Duchessa  tittered. 

"Think  of  the  poor  farmers,"  she  said 
reproachfully. 

"  It 's  vain  to  think  of  them,"  he  answered 
c<  'T  is  an  ascertained  fact  that  no  condition  of 
the  weather  ever  contents  the  farmers." 

The  Duchessa  laughed. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  consented,  "  then  I  '11  join 
in  your  hope  that  the  fine  weather  may  last. 
I  —  I  trust/'  she  was  so  good  as  to  add,  "  that 

28 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

you're    not    entirely   uncomfortable   at  Villa 
Floriano  ? " 

"I  daren't  allow  myself  to  speak  of  Villa 
Floriano,"  he  replied.  "1  should  become 
dithyrambic.  It's  too  adorable." 

"  It  has  a  pretty  garden,  and —  I  remember 
—  you  admired  the  view/'  the  Duchessa  said, 
"And  that  old  Marietta?  I  trust  she  does 
for  you  fairly  well?"  Her  raised  eyebrows 
expressed  benevolent  (or  was  it  in  some  part 
humorous  ?)  concern. 

"She  does  for  me  to  perfection.  That 
old  Marietta  is  a  priceless  old  jewel,"  Peter 
vowed. 

"  A  good  cook  ? "  questioned  the  Duchessa. 

"A  good  cook  —  but  also  a  counsellor  and 
friend.  And  with  a  flow  of  language ! " 

The  Duchessa  laughed  again. 

"Oh,  these  Lombard  peasant  women! 
They  are  untiring  chatterers." 

"  I  'm  not  sure,"  Peter  felt  himself  in  justice 
bound  to  confess,  "  that  Marietta  is  n't  equally 
untiring  as  a  listener.  In  fact,  there *s  only  one 
respect  in  which  she  has  disappointed  me." 

"Oh  —  ?"  said  the  Duchessa.  Arid  hef 
raised  eyebrows  demanded  particulars. 

29 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

*c  She  swears  she  does  n't  wear  a  dagger  in 
her  garter  —  has  never  heard  of  such  a  prac 
tice,"  Peter  explained.  "  And  now,"  he  whis 
pered  to  his  soul,  "we'll  see  whether  our 
landlady  is  up  in  modern  literature." 

Still  again  the  Duchessa  laughed.  And, 
apparently,  she  was  up  in  modern  literature. 
At  any  rate  — 

"Those  are  four  Lombard  country-girls 
along  the  coast,' "  she  reminded  him.  "  We 
are  peaceful  inland  folk,  miles  from  the  sea. 
But  you  had  best  be  on  your  guard,  none 
the  less."  She  shook  her  head,  in  warning. 
*c  Through  all  this  country-side  that  old 
Marietta  is  reputed  to  be  a  witch." 

"  If  she's  a  witch,"  said  Peter,  undismayed, 
"  her  usefulness  will  be  doubled.  I  shall  put 
her  to  the  test  directly  I  get  home." 

"  Sprinkle  her  with  holy  water  ?  "  laughed 
the  Duchessa,  "  Have  a  care.  If  she  should 
turn  into  a  black  cat,  and  fly  away  on  a  broom 
stick,  you  'd  never  forgive  yourself." 

Wherewith  she  swept  on  to  her  carriage, 
followed  by  her  young  companion. 

The  sprightly  French  bays  tossed  their 
heads,  making  the  harness  tinkle.  The  foot- 

30 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

man  mounted  the   box.     The  carriage  rolled 
away. 

But  Peter  remained  for  quite  a  minute 
motionless  on  the  door-step,  gazing,  bemused, 
down  the  long,  straight,  improbable  village 
street,  with  its  poplars,  its  bridge,  its  ancient 
Stone  cross,  its  irregular  pink  and  yellow 
houses — as  improbable  as  a  street  in  opera- 
bouffe.  A  thin  cloud  of  dust  floated  after  the 
carriage,  a  thin  screen  of  white  dust,  which,  in 
the  sun,  looked  like  a  fume  of  silver. 

"  I  think  I  could  put  my  finger  on  a  witch 
worth  two  of  Marietta,"  he  said,  in  the  end.  — - 
"  And  thus  we  see,"  he  added,  struck  by  some- 
thing  perhaps  not  altogether  novel  in  his  own 
reflection, "  how  the  primary  emotions,  being 
perennial,  tend  to  express  themselves  in  per 
ennial  formulae/' 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


VI 


B.CK   at  the  villa,  he  enquired   of  Marietta 
who  the  pretty  brown-eyed  young  girl  might 

have  been. 

"The  Signorina  Emilia,"  Marietta  promptly 

informed  him. 

"  Really  and  truly  ? "  questioned  he. 

"  Ang,"  affirmed  Marietta,  with  the  national 
jerk  of  the  head  ;  "  the  Signorina  Emilia  Man- 
fredi  —  the  daughter  of  the  Duca." 

"Oh  —  ?  Then  the  Duca  was  married 
before?  "  concluded  Peter,  with  simplicity. 

«  Che-e-ef"  scoffed  Marietta,  on  her  highest 
note.  "Married?  He?"  Then  she  winked 
and  nodded  — as  one  man  of  the  world  to 
another.  "Ma  molto  foco!  La  mamma  fu 
robaccia  di  Milano.  But  after  his  death,  the 
Duchessa  had  her  brought  to  the  castle.  She 
is  the  same  as  adopted." 

"  That  looks  as  if  your  Duchessa  s  heart 
were  in  the  right  place,  after  all,"  commented 
Peter. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

**  Gia"  agreed  Marietta. 

«  Hang  the  right  place  !  "  cried  he.  «  What's 
the  good  of  telling  me  her  heart  is  in  the  right 
place,  if  the  right  place  is  inaccessible?  " 

But  Marietta  only  looked  bewildered. 

He  lived  in  his  garden,  he  haunted  the 
riverside,  he  made  a  daily  pilgrimage  to  the 
vrillage  post,  he  thoroughly  neglected  the  work 
he  had  come  to  this  quiet  spot  to  do.  But  a 
week  passed,  during  which  he  never  once 
beheld  so  much  as  the  shadow  of  the 
Duchessa. 

On  Sunday  he  trudged  his  mile,  through  the 
sun,  and  up  the  hill,  not  only  to  both  Masses, 
but  to  Vespers  and  Benediction. 

She  was  present  at  none  of  these  offices. 

"The  Pagan  !  "  he  exclaimed. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


vo 

UP  at  the  castle,  on  the  broad  marble  terrace, 
where  clematis  and  jessamine  climbed  over  the 
balustrade  and  twined  about  its  pilasters,  where 
oleanders  grew  in  tall  marble  urns  and  shed 
their  roseate  petals  on  the  pavement,  Beatrice, 
dressed  for  dinner,  in  white,  with  pearls  in  her 
hair,  and  pearls  round  her  throat,  was  walking 
slowly  backwards  and  forwards,  reading  a  letter. 
"There  is  a  Peter  Marchdale — I  don't 
know  whether  he  will  be  your  Peter  March- 
dale  or  not,  my  dear ;  though  the  name  seems 
hardly  likely  to  be  common  —  son  of  the  late 
Mr.  Archibald  Marchdale,  Q.  C.,  and  nephew 
of  old  General  Marchdale,  of  Whitstoke.  A 
highly  respectable  and  stodgy  Norfolk  family. 
I  Ve  never  happened  to  meet  the  man  myself, 
but  I  'm  told  he  *s  a  bit  of  an  eccentric,  who 
amuses  himself  globe-trotting,  and  writing 
books  (novels,  I  believe)  which  nobody,  so 
far  as  1  am  aware,  ever  reads.  He  writes 
under  a  pseudonym,  Felix  —  I'm  not  sure 

34 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

whether  it's  Mildmay  or  Wildmay.    He  began 
life,  by  the  bye,  in  the   Diplomatic,  and  was 
attache  for  a  while  at  Berlin,  or  Petersburg,  or 
somewhere;  but  whether  (in  the  elegant  lan 
guage  of  Diplomacy)  he  c  chucked  it  up/  or 
failed  to  pass  his  exams,  I  *m  not  in  a  position 
to  say.     He  will  be  near  thirty,  and  ought  to 
have  a  couple  of  thousand  a  year — more  or  less. 
His  father,  at  any  rate,  was  a  great  man  at 
the  bar,  and  must  have  left  something  decent. 
And  the  only  other  thing  in  the  world  I  know 
about  him  is  that  he 's  a  great  friend  of  that 
clever    gossip    Margaret   Winchfield —  which 
goes  to  show  that  however  obscure  he  may  be 
as  a  scribbler  of  fiction,  he  must  possess  some 
redeeming  virtues  as  a  social  being  — -  for  Mrs. 
Winchfield  is  by  no  means  the  sort  that  falls  in 
love  with  bores.     As  you  're  not,  either  —  well, 
verbum  sap.,  as  my  little  brother  Freddie  says." 
Beatrice   gazed  off,   over   the    sunny  lawn, 
with  its  trees  and  their  long  shadows,  with  its 
shrubberies,  its  bright  flower-beds,  its  marble 
benches,  its  artificial  ruin ;  over  the  lake,  with 
its  coloured  sails,  its  incongruous  puffing  steam 
boats;  down   the   valley,   away   to   the    rosy 
peaks  of  Monte  Sfiorito,  and  the  deep  blue 

II 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

sky  behind  them.  She  plucked  a  spray  ot 
jessamine,  and  brushed  the  cool  white  blos 
soms  across  her  cheek,  and  inhaled  their  fairy 
fragrance. 

"  An  obscure  scribbler  of  fiction,"  she  mused. 
"  Ah,  well,  one  is  an  obscure  reader  of  fiction 
oneself.  We  must  send  to  London  for  Mr, 
Felix  Mildmay  Wildmay's  works." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


VIII 

ON  Monday  evening,  at  the  end  of  dinner,  as 
she  set  the  fruit  before  him,  "  The  Signorino 
will  take  coffee  ?  "  old  Marietta  asked. 

Peter  frowned  at  the  fruit,  figs  and  peaches — 
"  Figs  imperial  purple,  and  blushing  peaches  "  — 

ranged  alternately,  with  fine  precision,  in  a 
circle,  round  a  central  heap  of  translucent 
yellow  grapes. 

"  Is  this  the  produce  of  my  own  vine  and 
fig-tree  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  Signorino ;  and  also  peach-tree,"  re 
plied  Marietta. 

"Peaches  do  not  grow  on  fig-trees?"  he 
enquired. 

"  No,  Signorino,"  said  Marietta. 

"  Nor  figs  on  thistles,  I  wonder  why  not," 
said  he. 

"  It  is  n't  Nature,"  was  Marietta's  confident 
generalisation. 

*cMarf«tta    Cignolesi,"    Peter    pronounced 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

severely,  looking  her  hard  in  the  eyes,  **  I  am 
told  you  are  a  witch." 

"  No,"  said  Marietta,  simply,  without  sur 
prise,  without  emotion. 

"  I  quite  understand,"  he  genially  persisted. 
"  It 's  a  part  of  the  game  to  deny  it.  But  I 
have  no  intention  of  sprinkling  you  with  holy 
water  —  so  don't  be  frightened.  Besides,  if 
you  should  do  anything  outrageous  —  if  you 
should  turn  into  a  black  cat,  and  fly  away  on 
a  broomstick,  for  example  —  I  could  never 
forgive  myself.  But  I  '11  thank  you  to  employ 
a  little  of  your  witchcraft  on  my  behalf,  all  the 
same.  I  have  lost  something — something  very 
precious  —  more  precious  than  rubies  —  more 
precious  than  fine  gold." 

Marietta's  brown  old  wrinkles  fell  into  an 
expression  of  alarm. 

"In  the  villa  ?  In  the  garden  ? "  she  ex 
claimed,  anxiously. 

"  No,  you  conscientious  old  thing  you," 
Peter  hastened  to  relieve  her.  "  Nowhere 
in  your  jurisdiction — so  don't  distress  your 
self.  LaggiU)  laggiu" 

And  he  waved  a  vague  hand,  to  indicate 
outer  space. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

tt  The  Signorino  should  put  up  a  candle  to 
St.  Anthony  of  Padua/*  counselled  this  Cath 
olic  witch. 

"  St.  Anthony  of  Padua  ?  Why  of  Padua  ? " 
asked  Peter. 

"  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,"  said  Marietta. 

cc  You  mean  of  Lisbon,"  corrected  Peter. 

"  No/'  insisted  the  old  woman,  with  energy. 
"  St.  Anthony  of  Padua/* 

"  But  he  was  born  in  Lisbon/'  insisted  Peter. 

"  No/'  said  Marietta. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "  farola  d*  onore.  And, 
what's  more  to  the  purpose,  he  died  in 
Lisbon.  You  clearly  mean  St.  Anthony  of 
Lisbon." 

"  No  ! "  Marietta  raised  her  voice,  for  his 
speedier  conviction.  "There  is  no  St.  Anthony 
of  Lisbon.  St.  Anthony  of  Padua." 

"  What 's  the  use  of  sticking  to  your  guns 
in  that  obstinate  fashion  ? J>  Peter  complained. 
"It's  mere  pride  of  opinion.  Don't  you 
know  that  the  ready  concession  of  minor 
points  is  a  part  of  the  grace  of  life  r  " 

"  When  you  lose  an  object,  you  put  up  a 
candle  to  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,"  said  Mari 
etta,  weary  but  resolved. 

39 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  to  recover  the  ob 
ject,"  contended  Peter. 

Marietta  stared  at  him,  blinking. 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  recover  the  object  I 
have  lost,"  he  continued  blandly.  "  The  loss 
of  it  is  a  new,  thrilling,  humanising  experience. 
It  will  make  a  man  of  me — -and,  let  us  hope, 
a  better  man.  Besides,  in  a  sense,  I  lost  it 
long  ago  — c  when  first  my  smitten  eyes  beat 
fall  on  her,'  one  evening  at  the  Fra^ais,  three, 
four  years  ago.  But  it 's  essential  to  my 
happiness  that  I  should  see  the  person  into 
whose  possession  it  has  fallen.  That  is  wny 
I  am  not  angry  with  you  for  being  a  witch. 
It  suits  my  convenience.  Please  arrange  with 
the  powers  of  darkness  to  the  end  that  I  may 
meet  the  person  in  question  to-morrow  at  the 
latest.  No  !  "  He  raised  a  forbidding  hand. 
"  I  will  listen  to  no  protestations.  And,  for 
the  rest,  you  may  count  upon  my  absolute 
discretion. 

f  She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart 
And  she  lives  in  our  valley/  '* 

he  carolled  softly. 

«'  E  del  mio  cuore  la  carina, 

E  dimor*  nella  nostra  vallettina,'* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

he  obligingly  translated,  "  But  for  all  the 
good  I  get  of  her,  she  might  as  well  live  on 
the  top  of  the  Cornobastone,"  he  added 
dismally.  "  Yes,  now  you  may  bring  me  my 
coffee  —  only,  let  it  be  tea.  When  your  coffee 
is  coffee  it  keeps  me  awake  at  night." 

Marietta  trudged  back  to  her  kitchen,  nod 
ding  at  the  sky. 

The  next  afternoon,  however,  the  Duchessa 
di  Santangiolo  appeared  on  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  tumultuous  Aco. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


PETER  happened  to  be  engaged  in  the  amiable 
pastime  of  tossing  bread-crumbs  to  his  gold 
finches. 

But  a  score  or  so  of  sparrows,  vulture-like, 
lurked  under  cover  of  the  neighbouring  foliage, 
to  dash  in  viciously,  at  the  critical  moment, 
and  snatch  the  food  from  the  finches'  very 
mouths. 

The  Duchessa  watched  this  little  drama  for 
a  minute,  smiling,  in  silent  meditation  :  while 
peter  —  who,  for  a  wonder,  had  his  back 
turned  to  the  park  of  Ventirose,  and,  for  a 
greater  wonder  still  perhaps,  felt  no  pricking 
in  his  thumbs  —  remained  unconscious  of  her 
presence. 

At  last,  sorrowfully,  (but  there  was  always  a 
smile  at  the  back  of  her  eyes),  she  shook  her 
head. 

"  Oh,  the  pirates,  the  daredevils,"  she  sighed. 

Peter  started  ;  faced  about ;  saluted 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  The  brigands/'  said  she,  with  a  glance 
towards  the  sparrows'  outposts. 

"Yes,  poor  things,"  said  he. 

"  Poor  things  ?  "  cried  she,  indignant.  "  The 
unprincipled  little  monsters!" 

"  They  can't  help  it,"  he  pleaded  for  them. 
" c  It  is  their  nature  to.'  They  were  born  so. 
They  had  no  choice." 

"  You  actually  defend  them  !  "  she  marvelled, 
rebukefully. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  he  disclaimed.  "  I  don't 
defend  them.  I  defend  nothing.  I  merely 
recognise  and  accept.  Sparrows  —  finches.  It's 
the  way  of  the  world  — -  the  established  division 
of  the  world." 

She  frowned  incomprehension. 

"  The  established  division  of  the  world  —  ? " 

"  Exactly,"  said  he.  "  Sparrows  —  finches  : 
the  snatchers  and  the  snatched-from.  Every 
thing  that  breathes  is  either  a  sparrow  or  a 
finch.  'T  is  the  universal  war  —  the  struggle 
for  existence  —  the  survival  of  the  most  un -. 
scrupulous.  'T  is  a  miniature  presentment  of 
what 's  going  on  everywhere  in  earth  and  sky." 

She  shook  her  head  again. 

"You  see  the  earth  and  sky  through  black 
41 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

spectacles,  I  'm  afraid/'  she  remarked,  with  a 
long  face.  But  there  was  still  an  underglow 
of  amusement  in  her  eyes. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  because  there 's  a 
compensation.  As  you  rise  in  the  scale  of 
moral  development,  it  is  true,  you  pass  from 
the  category  of  the  snatchers  to  the  category 
of  the  snatched-from,  and  your  ultimate  ex 
tinction  is  assured.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  gain  talents  and  sensibilities.  You  do 
not  live  by  bread  alone.  These  goldfinches, 
for  a  case  in  point,  can  sing  —  and  they  have 
your  sympathy.  The  sparrows  can  only  make 
a  horrid  noise — -and  you  contemn  them. 
That  is  the  compensation.  The  snatchers  can 
never  know  the  joy  of  singing  —  or  of  being 
pitied  by  ladies." 

"  N .  .  .o,  perhaps  not,"  she  consented 
doubtfully.  The  underglow  of  amusement  in 
her  eyes  shone  nearer  to  the  surface.  "  But 
—  but  they  can  never  know,  either,  the  despair 
of  the  singer  when  his  songs  won't  come." 

"  Or  when  the  ladies  are  pitiless,,  That  is 
true,"  consented  Peter. 

"Arid    meanwhile    they    get    the    bread 
crumbs,"  she  saidc 


The  Cardinal's  Snuf^Box 

"  They  certainly  get  the  bread-crumbs/'  he 
admitted. 

"  I  'm  afraid  "  —  she  smiled,  as  one  who  has 
conducted  a  syllogism  safely  to  its  conclusion 
—  "  I  *m  afraid  I  do  not  think  your  compen 
sation  compensates." 

"  To  be  quite  honest,  I  daresay  it  does  n't," 
he  confessed. 

"  And  anyhow >9  —  she  followed  her  victory 
up  — "I  should  not  wish  my  garden  to  repre 
sent  the  universal  war.  I  should  not  wish  my 
garden  to  be  a  battle-field.  I  should  wish  it 
to  be  a  retreat  from  the  battle  —  an  abode  of 
peace— a  happy  valley  — a  sanctuary  for  the 
snatched-from." 

"  But  why  distress  one's  soul  with  wishes 
that  are  vain  ?  "  asked  he.  "  What  could  one 
do?" 

"  One  could  keep  a  dragon,"  she  answered 
promptly.  «  If  I  were  you,  I  should  keep  a 
sparrow-devouring,  finch-respecting  dragon." 

"  It  would  do  no  good,"  said  he.  "  You  'd 
get  rid  of  one  species  of  snatcher,  but  some 
other  species  of  snatcher  would  instantly  pop 
up." 

She  gazed  at  him  with  those  amused  eyes  of 

45 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

hers,  and  still  again,  slowly,  sorrowfully,  shook 
her  head. 

"Oh,   your  spectacles   are  black  —  black," 
she  murmured. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  he  ;  "  but  such  as  they 
are,  they  show  me  the  inevitable  conditions  of 
our  planet.  The  snatcher,  here  below,  is 
ubiquitous  and  eternal  —  as  ubiquitous,  as 
eternal,  as  the  force  of  gravitation.  He  is 
likewise  protean.  Banish  him  —  he  takes  half 
a  minute  to  change  his  visible  form,  and 
returns  au  galop.  Sometimes  he's  an  ugly 
kittle  cacophonous  brown  sparrow;  sometimes 
he's  a  splendid  florid  money-lender,  or  an 
aproned  and  obsequious  greengrocer,  or  a 
trusted  friend,  hearty  and  familiar.  But  he  ^s 
always  there ;  and  he 's  always  —  if  you  don't 
mind  the  vernacular  —  'on  the  snatch.' ' 

The  Duchessa  arched  her  eyebrows- 

"  If  things  are  really  at  such  a  sorry  pass," 
she  said,  "  I  will  commend  my  former  proposal 
to  you  with  increased  confidence.  You  should 
keep  a  dragon.  After  all,  you  only  wish  to 
protect  your  garden;  and  that" — she  em 
braced  it  with  her  glance  — "  is  not  so  veiy 
big,  You  could  teach  your  dragon,  if  you 

46 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

procured  one  of  an  intelligent  breed,  to  devout 
greengrocers,  trusted  friends,  and  even  money 
lenders  too  (tough  though  no  doubt  they  are), 
as  well  as  sparrows." 

"  Your  proposal  is  a  surrender  to  my  con 
tention/'  said  Peter.  cc  You  would  set  a 
snatcher  to  catch  the  snatchers.  Other  heights 
in  other  lives,  perhaps.  But  in  the  dark  back- 
ward  and  abysm  of  space  to  which  our  lives 
are  confined,  the  snatcher  is  indigenous  and 
inexpugnable." 

The  Duchessa  looked  at  the  sunny  land 
scape,  the  bright  lawns,  the  high  bending  trees, 
with  the  light  caught  in  the  network  of  their 
million  leaves ;  she  looked  at  the  laughing 
white  villas  westward,  the  pale-green  vineyards, 
the  yellow  cornfields ;  she  looked  at  the  rush 
ing  river,  with  the  diamonds  sparkling  on  its 
surface,  at  the  far-away  gleaming  snows  of 
Monte  Sfiorito,  at  the  scintillant  blue  sky 
overhead. 

Then  she  looked  at  Peter,  a  fine  admixture 
of  mirth  with  something  like  gravity  in  her 
smile. 

"  The  dark  backward  and  abysm  of  space  ?  " 
she  repeated.  "And  you  do  not  wear  black 

47 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

spectacles  ?  Then  it  must  be  that  your  eyes 
themselves  are  just  a  pair  of  black-seeing 
pessimists." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  triumphed  Peter,  "  it  is 
because  they  are  optimists,  that  they  suspect 
there  must  be  forwarder  and  more  luminous 
regions  than  the  Solar  System." 

The  Duchessa  laughed. 

"  I  think  you  have  the  prettiest  mouth,  arid 
the  most  exquisite  little  teeth,  and  the  eyes 
richest  in  promise,  and  the  sweetest  laughter, 
of  any  woman  out  of  Paradise,"  said  Peter,  in 
the  silence  of  his  soul. 

"  It  is  clear  I  shall  never  be  your  matcn  in 
debate,"  said  she. 

Peter  made  a  gesture  of  deprecating  modesty. 

"  But  I  wonder,"  she  went  on,  "  whether 
you  would  put  me  down  as  c  another  species  of 
snatcher,'  if  I  should  ask  you  to  spare  me  just 
the  merest  end  of  a  crust  of  bread  ? "  And 
she  lifted  those  eyes  rich  in  promise  appeal- 
ingly  to  his. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  of  you  —  take  all  I  have," 
he  responded,  with  effusion.  "  But  —  but 
how  —  ?" 

*c  Toss/'  she  commanded  tersely* 
48 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

So  he  tossed  what  was  left  of  his  bread  into 
the  air,  above  the  river;  and  the  Duchessa, 
easily,  deftly,  threw  up  a  hand,  and  caught  it 
on  the  wing. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  laughed,  with 
a  little  bow. 

Then  she  crumbled  the  bread,  and  began  to 
sprinkle  the  ground  with  it ;  and  in  an  instant 
she  was  the  centre  of  a  cloud  of  birds.  Peter 
was  at  liberty  to  watch  her,  to  admire  the  swift 
grace  of  her  motions,  their  suggestion  of  deli 
cate  strength,  of  joy  in  things  physical,  and  the 
lithe  elasticity  of  her  figure,  against  the  back 
ground  of  satiny  lawn,  and  the  further  vistas 
of  lofty  sunlit  trees.  She  was  dressed  in  white, 
as  always  —  a  frock  of  I  know  not  what  supple 
fabric,  that  looked  as  if  you  might  have  passed 
it  through  your  ring,  and  fell  in  multitudes  of 
small  soft  creases.  Two  big  red  roses  drooped 
from  her  bodice.  She  wore  a  garden-hat,  of 
white  straw,  with  a  big  daring  rose-red  bow, 
under  which  the  dense  meshes  of  her  hair, 
warmly  dark,  dimly  bright,  shimmered  in  a 
blur  of  brownish  gold. 

"  What  vigour,  what  verve,  what  health," 
thought  Peter,  watching  her,  "  what  dean, 

4  49 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

fresh,  fragrant  health ! "  And  he  had,  no 
doubt,  his  emotions. 

She  bestowed  her  bread-crumbs  on  the  birds ; 
but  she  was  able,  somehow,  to  discriminate 
mightily  in  favour  of  the  goldfinches.  She 
would  make  a  diversion,  the  semblance  of  a 
fling,  with  her  empty  right  hand ;  and  the  too- 
greedy  sparrows  would  dart  off,  avid,  on  that 
false  lead.  Whereupon,  quickly,  stealthily, 
she  would  rain  a  little  shower  of  crumbs,  from 
her  left  hand,  on  the  grass  beside  her,  to  a 
confiding  group  of  finches  assembled  there. 
And  if  ever  a  sparrow  ventured  to  intrude  his 
ruffianly  black  beak  into  this  sacred  quarter, 
she  would  manage,  with  a  kind  of  restrained 
ferocity,  to  "  shoo  "  him  away,  without  thereby 
frightening  the  finches. 

And  all  the  while  her  eyes  laughed ; 
and  there  was  colour  in  her  cheeks ;  and 
there  was  the  forceful,  graceful  action  of  her 
body. 

When  the  bread  was  finished,  she  clapped 
her  hands  together  gently,  to  dust  the  last 
mites  from  them,  and  looked  over  at  Peter, 
and  smiled  significantly. 

"Yes,"  he  acknowledged,  "you  outwitted 

50 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

them  very  skilfully.     You,  at  any  rate,  have 
no  need  of  a  dragon." 

"  Oh,  in  default  of  a  dragon,  one  can  do 
dragon's  work  oneself/*  she  answered  lightly. 
"  Or,  rather,  one  can  make  oneself  an  instru 
ment  of  justice." 

"  All  the  same,  I  should  call  it  uncommonly 
hard  luck  to  be  born  a  sparrow  —  within  your 
jurisdiction,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  not  an  affair  of  luck,"  said  she. 
"  One  is  born  a  sparrow  —  within  my  jurisdic 
tion  —  for  one's  sins  in  a  former  state.  —  No, 
you  little  dovelings  "  —  she  turned  to  a  pair 
of  finches  on  the  greensward  near  her,  who 
were  lingering,  and  gazing  up  into  her  face 
with  hungry,  expectant  eyes  — "  I  have  no 
more.  I  have  given  you  my  all."  And  she 
stretched  out  her  open  hands,  palms  down 
wards,  to  convince  them. 

"  The  sparrows  got  nothing  ;  and  the  gold 
finches,  who  got  cyour  all,'  grumble  because 
you  gave  so  little,"  said  Peter,  sadly.  "  That 
is  what  comes  of  interfering  with  the  laws  of 
Nature."  And  then,  as  the  two  birds  flew 
away,  "See  the  dark,  doubtful,  reproachful 
glances  with  which  they  cover  you." 

51 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff- Box 

11  You  think  they  are  ungrateful  I  "  she  said. 
"No— listen." 

She  held  up  a  finger. 

For,  at  that  moment,  on  the  branch  of  an 
acacia,  just  over  her  head,  a  goldfinch  began 
to  sing  —  his  thin,  sweet,  crystalline  trill  of 
song. 

"  Do  you  call  that  grumbling  ? "  she  asked. 

cc  It  implies  a  grumble,"  said  Peter,  "like 
the  f  thank  you '  of  a  servant  dissatisfied  with 
his  tip.  It's  the  very  least  he  can  do.  It's 
perfunctory  —  I  'm  not  sure  it  is  n't  even 
ironical." 

"  Perfunctory  !  Ironical !  "  cried  the  Du- 
chessa.  "  Look  at  him  !  He  's  warbling  his 
delicious  little  soul  out." 

They  both  paused  to  look  and  listen. 

The  bird's  gold-red  bosom  palpitated.  He 
marked  his  modulations  by  sudden  emphatic 
movements  of  the  head.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
intently  before  him,  as  if  he  could  actually  see 
and  follow  the  shining  thread  of  his  song,  as  it 
wound  away  through  the  air.  His  performance 
had  all  the  effect  of  a  spontaneous  rhapsody. 
When  it  was  terminated,  he  looked  down  at  his 
auditors,  eager,  inquisitive,  as  who  should  say* 

5* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  I  hope  you  liked  it  ?  "  —  and  then,  with  a  nod 
clearly  meant  as  a  farewell,  flew  out  of  sight. 

The  Duchessa  smiled  again  at  Peter,  with 
intention. 

"You  must  really  try  to  take  a  cheerier  view 
of  things,"  she  said. 

And  next  instant  she  too  was  off,  walking 
slowly,  lightly,  up  the  green  lawns,  between 
the  trees,  towards  the  castle,  her  gown  flutter 
ing  in  the  breeze,  now  dazzling  white  as  she 
came  into  the  sun,  now  pearly  grey  as  she 
passed  into  the  shade. 

"  What  a  woman  it  is,"  said  Peter  to  him 
self,  looking  after  her.  "  What  vigour,  what 
verve,  what  sex  !  What  a  woman  !  " 

And,  indeed,  there  was  nothing  of  the  too- 
prevalent  epicene  in  the  Duchessa's  aspect; 
she  was  very  certainly  a  woman. 

"  Heavens,  how  she  walks  ! "  he  cried  in  a 
deep  whisper. 

But  then  a  sudden  wave  of  dejection  swept 
over  him.  At  first  he  could  not  account  for 
it.  By  and  by,  however,  a  malicious  little 
voice  began  to  repeat  and  repeat  within  him, 
c  Oh,  the  futile  impression  you  must  have 
made  upon  her !  Oh,  the  ineptitudes  you 

53 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

uttered  !     Oh,   the  precious   opportunity   you 
have  misemployed  ! " 

"  You  are  a  witch/*  he  said  to  Marietta. 
"  You  Ve  proved  it  to  the  hilt.  I  Ve  seen  the 
person,  and  the  object  is  more  desperately  lost 
than  ever." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


THAT  evening,  among  the  letters  Peter  re- 
ceived  from  England,  there  was  one  from  his 
friend  Mrs.  Winchfield,  which  contained  cer 
tain  statistics. 

"Your  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo  cwas'  in 
deed,  as  your  funny  old  servant  told  you, 
English :  the  only  child  and  heiress  of  the  last 
Lord  BelfonL  The  Belfonts  of  Lancashire 
(now,  save  for  your  Duchessa,  extinct)  were 
the  most  bigoted  sort  of  Roman  Catholics,  and 
always  educated  their  daughters  in  foreign  con 
vents,  and  as  often  as  not  married  them  to 
foreigners.  The  Belfont  men,  besides,  were  ever 
and  anon  marrying  foreign  wives  ;  so  there  will 
be  a  goodish  deal  of  un-English  blood  in  your 
Duchessa's  own  ci-devant  English  veins. 

"  She  was  born,  as  I  learn  from  an  indiscre 
tion  of  my  Peerage,  in  1870,  and  is,  therefore, 
as  near  to  thirty  (the  dangerous  age  !)  as  to  the 
six-and-twenty  your  droll  old  Marietta  gives 
her.  Her  Christian  names  are  Beatrice  Anto- 

II 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

nia  Teresa  Mary  — faites  en  vofre  choix.  She 
was  married  at  nineteen  to  Baldassarre  Agosto, 
Principe  Udeschini,  Duca  di  Santangiolo, 
Marchese  di  Castellofranco,  Count  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire,  Knight  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  and  of  St.  Gregory,  (does  it  take  your 
breath  away?),  who,  according  to  Frontin, 
died  in  '93  ;  and  as  there  were  no  children, 
his  brother  Felipe  Lorenzo  succeeded  to  the 
titles.  A  younger  brother  still  is  Bishop  of 
Sardagna.  Cardinal  Udeschini  is  the  uncle. 

"  That,  dear  child,  empties  my  sack  of  in 
formation.  But  perhaps  I  have  a  bigger  sack, 
full  of  good  advice,  which  I  have  not  yet 
opened.  And  perhaps,  on  the  whole,  I  will 
not  open  it  at  all.  Only,  remember  that  in 
yonder  sentimental  Italian  lake  country,  in 
this  summer  weather,  a  solitary  young  man's 
fancy  might  be  much  inclined  to  turn  to 
thoughts  of — folly;  and  keep  an  eye  on 
my  friend  Peter  March  dale." 

Our  solitary  young  man  brooded  over  Mrs. 
Winchfield's  letter  for  a  long  while. 

"  The  daughter  of  a  lord,  and  the  widow  of 
a  duke,  and  the  niece-in-law  of  a  cardinal,"  he 
said.  "And,  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  a 

$< 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

bigoted  Roman  Catholic  into  the  bargain.  .  .  . 
And  yet — and  yet,"  he  went  on,  taking  heart 
a  little,  "  as  for  her  bigotry,  to  judge  by  her 
assiduity  in  attending  the  village  church,  that 
factor,  at  least,  thank  goodness,  would  appear 
to  be  static,  rather  than  dynamic." 

After  another  longish  interval  of  brooding, 
he  sauntered  down  to  the  riverside,  through 
his  fragrant  garden,  fragrant  and  fresh  with 
the  cool  odours  of  the  night,  and  peered  into 
the  darkness,  towards  Castel  Ventirose.  Here 
and  there  he  could  discern  a  gleam  of  yellow, 
where  some  lighted  window  was  not  entirely 
hidden  by  the  trees.  Thousands  and  thou 
sands  of  insects  were  threading  the  silence  with 
their  shrill  insistent  voices.  The  repeated 
wail,  harsh,  prolonged,  eerie,  of  some  strange 
wild  creature,  bird  or  beast,  came  down  from 
the  forest  of  the  Gnisi.  At  his  feet,  on  the 
troubled  surface  of  the  Aco,  the  stars,  re 
flected  and  distorted,  shone  like  broken  spear 
heads. 

He  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  stood  there  till 
he  had  consumed  it. 

"  Heigh-ho  !  "  he  sighed  at  last,  and  turned 
back  towards  the  villa  And  "  Yes,"  he  con- 

57 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

eluded,  "  I  must  certainly  keep  an  eye  on  our 
friend  Peter  Marchdale." 

"But  I'm  doubting  it's  a  bit  too  late  — 
trofpo  tardo"  he  said  to  Marietta,  whom  he 
found  bringing  hot  water  to  his  dressing- 
room. 

"  It  is  not  very  late,"  said  Marietta.  "  Only 
half-past  ten." 

"  She  is  a  woman  —  therefore  to  be  loved  ; 
she  is  a  duchess  —  therefore  to  be  lost,"  he  ex 
plained,  in  his  native  tongue. 

Cosa  ?  "  questioned  Marietta,  in  hers. 


cc 


s* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XI 


BEATRICE  and  Emilia,  strolling  together  in  one 
of  the  flowery  lanes  up  the  hillside,  between 
ranks  of  the  omnipresent  poplar,  and  rose-bush 
hedges,  or  crumbling  pink-stuccoed  walls  that 
dripped  with  cyclamen  and  snapdragon,  met  old 
Marietta  descending,  with  a  basket  on  her  arm. 

Marietta  courtesied  to  the  ground. 

"How  do  you  do,  Marietta?'*  Beatrice 
asked. 

"  I  can't  complain,  thank  your  Grandeur. 
I  have  the  lumbago  on  and  off  pretty  con 
stantly,  and  last  week  I  broke  a  tooth.  But 
I  can't  complain.  And  your  Highness  ? " 
Marietta  returned,  with  brisk  aplomb. 

Beatrice  smiled.  "  Bene ,  grazie.  Your  new 
master  —  that  young  Englishman,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  I  hope  you  find  him  kind,  and  easy 
to  do  for  ?  " 

"  Kind  —  yes,  Excellency.  Also  easy  to  do 
for.  But  —  !  "  Marietta  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders,  and  gave  her  head  two  meaning  oscillations. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

«  Oh  —  ?  "  wondered  Beatrice,  knitting  puz 
zled  brows. 

"Very  amiable,  your  Greatness  ;  but  simple, 
simple,"  Marietta  explained,  and  tapped  her 
brown  old  forehead  with  a  brown  forefinger. 

"  Really  —  ?  "  wondered  Beatrice. 

"  Yes,  Nobility,"  said  Marietta.  "  Gentle 
as  a  canary-bird,  but  innocent,  innocent." 

"You  astonish  me,'  Beatrice  avowed.  "  How 
does  he  show  it  ?  " 

u  The  questions  he  asks,  Most  Illustrious, 
the  things  he  says." 

"  For  example  —  ?  "  pursued  Beatrice. 

"  For  example,  your  Serenity  —  "  Marietta 
paused,  to  search  her  memory.  —  "  Well,  for 
one  example,  he  calls  roast  veal  a  fowl.  I 
give  him  roast  veal  for  his  luncheon,  and  he 
says  to  me,  c  Marietta,  this  fowl  has  no  wings.' 
But  everyone  knows,  your  Mercy,  that  veal  is 
not  a  fowl.  How  should  veal  have  wings  ?  " 

"  How  indeed  ?  "  assented  Beatrice,  on  a 
note  of  commiseration.  And  if  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  betrayed  a  tendency  to  curve 
upwards,  she  immediately  compelled  them 
down.  "  But  perhaps  he  does  not  speak 
Italian  very  well  ?  "  she  suggested. 

uo 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

cc  Machey  Potenza  !  Everyone  speaks  Ital 
ian,"  cried  Marietta. 

"  Indeed  ?  "  said  Beatrice. 

"Naturally,  your  Grace  —  all  Christians," 
Marietta  declared. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  know,"  said  Beatrice,  meekly. 
"Well,"  she  acknowledged,  "since  he  speaks 
Italian,  it  is  certainly  unreasonable  of  him  to 
call  veal  a  fowl." 

"But  that,  Magnificence,"  Marietta  went 
on,  warming  to  her  theme,  "  that  is  only  one 
of  his  simplicities.  He  asks  me,  c  Who  puts 
the  whitewash  on  Monte  Sfiorito  ? '  And 
when  I  tell  him  that  it  is  not  whitewash,  but 
snow,  he  says,  c  How  do  you  know?'  But 
everyone  knows  that  it  is  snow.  Whitewash  /" 

The  sprightly  old  woman  gave  her  whole 
body  a  shake,  for  the  better  exposition  of  her 
state  of  mind.  And  thereupon,  from  the  in 
terior  of  her  basket,  issued  a  plaintive  little 
squeal. 

"What  have  you  in  your  basket?  "  Beatrice 
asked. 

"  A  little  piglet,  Nobility  —  un  piccolo  for- 
cellino"  said  Marietta. 

And  lifting  the  cover  an  inch  or  two,  she 
5 1 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

displayed   the   anxious   face  of  a   poor    little 
sucking  pig. 

"E  carino?"  she  demanded,  whilst  her 
eyes  beamed  with  a  pride  that  almost  seemed 
maternal. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do  with 
him  ?  "  Beatrice  gasped. 

The  light  of  pride  gave  place  to  a  light  of 
resolution,  in  Marietta's  eyes. 

"Kill  him,  Mightiness,"  was  her  grim  re 
sponse;  "stuff  him  with  almonds,  raisins, 
rosemary,  and  onions  ;  cook  him  sweet  and 
sour ;  and  serve  him,  garnished  with  rosettes 
of  beet-root,  for  my  Signorino's  Sunday  dinner/' 

"  Oh-h-h  ! "  shuddered  Beatrice  and  Emilia, 
in  a  breath  ;  and  they  resumed  their  walk. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff- Box 


XII 

was  dining  —  with  an  appearance  of 
great  fervour. 

Peter  sat  on  his  rustic  bench,  by  the  riverside, 
and  watched  him,  smoking  a  cigarette  the  while. 

The  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo  stood  screened 
by  a  tree  in  the  park  of  Ventirose,  and  watched 
them  both. 

Fran9ois  wore  a  wide  blue  ribbon  round  his 
pink  and  chubby  neck;  and  his  dinner  con 
sisted  of  a  big  bowlful  of  bread  and  milk. 

Presently  the  Duchessa  stepped  forth  from 
her  ambush,  into  the  sun,  and  laughed. 

"What  a  sweetly  pretty  scene,"  she  said. 
"  Pastoral  —  idyllic  —  it  reminds  one  of  The 
ocritus  —  it  reminds  one  of  Watteau." 

Peter  threw  his  cigarette  into  the  river, 
and  made  an  obeisance. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  feel  the  charm  of  it," 
he  responded.  "  May  I  be  permitted  to  pre 
sent  Master  Fran9ois  Villon  ?  " 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  the  Duchessa, 
graciously  smiling  upon  Fra^ois,  and  inclining 
her  head. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  know,"  said  Peter,  apologetic. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Duchessa,  "  and  in  rather 
tragical  circumstances.  But  at  that  time  he  was 
anonymous.  Why  —  if  you  won't  think  my 
curiosity  impertinent  —  why  Fran9ois  Villon  ?  " 

"Why  not  ?  "  said  Peter.  "He  made  such 
a  tremendous  outcry  when  he  was  condemned 
to  death,  for  one  thing.  You  should  have 
heard  him.  He  has  a  voice  !  Then,  for  an 
other,  he  takes  such  a  passionate  interest  in 
his  meat  and  drink.  And  then,  if  you  come 
to  that,  I  really  had  n't  the  heart  to  call  him 
Pauvre  Lelian." 

The  Duchessa  raised  amused  eyebrows. 

"  You  felt  that  Pauvre  Lelian  was  the  only 
alternative  ? " 

"  I  had  in  mind  a  remark  of  Pauvre  Lelian's 
friend  and  confrere,  the  cryptic  Stephane,"  Peter 
answered.  "  You  will  remember  it.  c  Uame 
d'un  foete  dans  le  corps  (Tun  — '  I  —  I  forget 
the  last  word,"  he  faltered. 

"  Shall  we  say  c  little  pig '  ?  "  suggested  the 
Duchessa* 

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"Oh,  please  don't,"  cried  Peter,  hastily, 
with  a  gesture  of  supplication.  "  Don't  say 
*  pig '  in  his  presence.  You  '11  wound  his 
feelings." 

The  Duchessa  laughed. 

"  I  knew  he  was  condemned  to  death,"  she 
owned.  cc  Indeed,  it  was  in  his  condemned 
cell  that  I  made  his  acquaintance.  Your 
Marietta  Cignolesi  introduced  us.  Her  air 
was  so  inexorable,  I  'm  a  good  deal  surprised 
to  see  him  alive  to-day.  There  was  some  ques 
tion  of  a  stuffing  of  rosemary  and  onions." 

"Ah,  I  see,'*  said  Peter,  "I  see  that  you're 
familiar  with  the  whole  disgraceful  story.  Yes, 
Marietta,  the  unspeakable  old  Tartar,  was  all 
for  stuffing  him  with  rosemary  and  onions. 
But  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  share  her 
point  of  view.  He  screamed  his  protest,  like 
a  man,  in  twenty  different  octaves.  You  really 
should  have  heard  him.  His  voice  is  of  a 
compass,  of  a  timbre,  of  an  expressiveness  ! 
Passive  endurance,  I  fear,  is  not  his  forte. 
For  the  sake  of  peace  and  silence,  I  inter 
vened,  interceded.  She  had  her  knife  at  his 
very  throat.  I  was  not  an  instant  too  soon. 
So,  of  course,  I  've  had  to  adopt  him." 
i  ,  65 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Of  course,  poor  man/'  sympathised  the 
Duchessa.  ct  It 's  a  recognised  principle  that 
if  you  save  a  fellow's  life,  you  're  bound  to 
him  for  the  rest  of  yours.  But  —  but  won't 
you  find  him  rather  a  burdensome  responsibil 
ity  when  he  's  grown  up  ?  "  she  reflected. 

"  §ue  voulez-vous?  "  reflected  Peter.  "  Bur 
densome  responsibilities  are  the  appointed  ac 
companiments  of  man's  pilgrimage.  Why  not 
Fraii9ois  Villon,  as  well  as  another?  And 
besides,  as  the  world  is  at  present  organised,  a 
member  of  the  class  vulgarly  styled  c  the  rich ' 
can  generally  manage  to  shift  his  responsibil 
ities,  when  they  become  too  irksome,  upon  the 
backs  of  the  poor.  For  example  —  Marietta  ! 
Marietta ! "  he  called,  raising  his  voice  a  little, 
and  clapping  his  hands. 

Marietta  came.  When  she  had  made  her 
courtesy  to  the  Duchessa,  and  a  polite  en 
quiry  as  to  her  Excellency's  health,  Peter 
said,  with  an  indicative  nod  of  the  head, 
"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  remove  my 
responsibility  ? " 

"  Ilporcellino  ?  "  questioned  Marietta. 

«  Ang,"  said  he. 

And  when  Marietta  had  borne  Francis, 
66 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

struggling  and  squealing  in  her  arms,  from 
the  foreground  — 

€C  There  —  you  see  how  it  is  done,"  he 
remarked. 

The  Duchessa  laughed. 

"  An  object-lesson,"  she  agreed.  "  An  ob 
ject-lesson  in  —  might  n't  one  call  it  the  science 
of  Applied  Cynicism  ?  " 

"  Science  !  "  Peter  plaintively  repudiated 
the  word.  "  No,  no.  I  was  rather  flattering 
myself  it  was  an  art." 

"Apropos  of  art  —  "  said  the  Duchessa. 

She  came  down  two  or  three  steps  nearer  to 
the  brink  of  the  river.  She  produced  from 
behind  her  back  a  hand  that  she  had  kept  there, 
and  held  up  for  Peter's  inspection  a  grey-and- 
gold  bound  book. 

"  Apropos  of  art,  I  Ve  been  reading  a  novel. 
Do  you  know  it? " 

Peter  glanced  at  the  grey-and-gold  binding 
—  and  dissembled  the  emotion  that  suddenly 
swelled  big  in  his  heart. 

He  screwed  his  eyeglass  into  his  eye,  and 
gave  an  intent  look. 

"  I  can't  make  out  the  title,"  he  temporised, 
shaking  his  head,  and  letting  his  eyeglass  drop, 

67 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

On  the  whole,  it  was  very  well  acted ;  and  I 
hope  the  occult  little  smile  that  played  about 
the  Duchessa's  lips  was  a  smile  of  appreciation. 

"  It  has  a  highly  appropriate  title,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  called  c  A  Man  of  Words/  by  an  author 
I  Ve  never  happened  to  hear  of  before,  named 
Felix  Wildmay." 

"Oh,  yes.  How  very  odd,"  said  Peter. 
"By  a  curious  chance,  I  know  it  very  well. 
But  I  'm  surprised  to  discover  that  you  do. 
How  on  earth  did  it  fall  into  your  hands  ? " 

"Why  on  earth  shouldn't  it?"  wondered 
she.  "  Novels  are  intended  to  fall  into  people's 
hands,  are  they  not?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  he  assented.  "  But  inten 
tions,  in  this  vale  of  tears,  are  not  always  real 
ised,  are  they  ?  Anyhow,  c  A  Man  of  Words ' 
is  not  like  other  novels.  It's  peculiar." 

"  Peculiar  —  ?"  she  repeated. 

"  Of  a  peculiar,  of  an  unparalleled  obscu 
rity,"  he  explained.  "There  has  been  no 
failure  approaching  it  since  What  's-his-name 
invented  printing.  I  hadn't  supposed  that 
seven  copies  of  it  were  in  circulation." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  the  Duchessa.  "  A  corre 
spondent  of  mine  in  London  recommended  it. 

68 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

But  —  in  view  of  its  unparalleled  obscurity — • 
is  n't  it  almost  equally  a  matter  for  surprise 
that  you  should  know  it  ? " 

"  It  would  be,  sure  enough/'  consented 
Peter,  "  if  it  were  n't  that  I  just  happen  also 
to  know  the  author." 

«Oh  —  ?  You  know  the  author?"  cried 
the  Duchessa,  with  animation. 

"  Comme  ma  poche"  said  Peter.  "  We  were 
boys  together." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  she.   "  What  a  coincidence." 

«  Yes,"  said  he. 

"And  —  and  his  book?"  Her  eyebrows 
went  up,  interrogative.  "  I  expect,  as  you 
know  the  man,  you  think  rather  poorly 
of  it  ? " 

"On  the  contrary,  in  the  teeth  of  verisimili 
tude,  I  think  extremely  well  of  it,"  he  answered 
firmly.  "  I  admire  it  immensely.  I  think  it 's 
an  altogether  ripping  little  book.  I  think  it 's 
one  of  the  nicest  little  books  I  *ve  read  for 
ages." 

"  How  funny,"  said  she. 

"  Why  funny  ? "  asked  he. 

*'  It's  so  unlikely  that  one  should  seem  a 
genius  to  one's  old  familiar  friends." 

60 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

cc  Did  I  say  he  seemed  a  genius  to  me  ?  I 
misled  you.  He  doesn't.  In  fact,  he  very 
frequently  seems  —  but,  for  Charity's  sake,  I  'd 
best  forbear  to  tell.  However,  I  admire  his 
book.  And  —  to  be  entirely  frank  —  it's  a 
constant  source  of  astonishment  to  me  that  he 
should  ever  have  been  able  to  do  anything 
one-tenth  so  good." 

The  Duchessa  smiled  pensively. 

"  Ah,  well,"  she  mused,  "  we  must  assume 
that  he  has  happy  moments  —  or,  perhaps, 
two  soul-sides,  one  to  face  the  world  with,  one 
to  show  his  manuscripts  when  he's  writing. 
You  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike.  That, 
indeed,  is  only  natural,  on  the  part  of  an  old 
friend.  But  you  pique  my  interest.  What  is 
the  trouble  with  him?  Is  —  is  he  conceited, 
for  example?  " 

"  The  trouble  with  him  ?  "  Peter  pondered. 
"Oh,  it  would  be  too  long  and  too  sad  a  story. 
*  Should  I  anatomise  him  to  you  as  he  is,  I 
must  blush  and  weep,  and  you  must  look  pale 
and  wonder/  He  has  pretty  nearly  every 
weakness,  not  to  mention  vices,  that  flesh  is 
heir  to.  But  as  for  conceit  ...  let  me  see. 
He  concurs  in  my  own  high  opinion  of  his 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

work,  I  believe;  but  I  don't  know  whether, 
as  literary  men  go,  it  would  be  fair  to  call 
him  conceited.  He  belongs,  at  any  rate,  to 
the  comparatively  modest  minority  who  do 
not  secretly  fancy  that  Shakespeare  has  come 
back  to  life." 

"  That  Shakespeare  has  come  back  to  life ! " 
marvelled  the  Duchessa.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  most  literary  men  fancy  that  ?  " 

*'  I  think  perhaps  I  am  acquainted  with  three 
who  don't,"  Peter  replied ;  "  but  one  of  them 
merely  wears  his  rue  with  a  difference.  He 
fancies  that  it 's  Goethe." 

"How  extravagantly —  how  exquisitely 
droll!"  she  laughed. 

**  I  confess,  it  struck  me  so,  until  I  got  ac 
customed  to  it,"  said  he,  "until  1  learned  that 
it  was  one  of  the  commonplaces,  one  of  the 
normal  attributes  of  the  literary  temperament. 
It's  as  much  to  be  taken  for  granted,  when 
you  meet  an  author,  as  the  tail  is  to  be  taken 
for  granted,  when  you  meet  a  cat." 

"  I  *m  vastly  your  debtor  for  the  informa 
tion  —  it  will  stand  me  in  stead  with  the  next 
author  who  comes  my  way.  But,  in  that  case, 
your  friend  Mr.  Felix  Wildmay  will  be,  as  it 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

were,  a  sort  of  Manx  cat?"  was  her  smiling 
deduction. 

"Yes,  if  you  like,  in  that  particular,  a 
sort  of  Manx  cat,"  acquiesced  Peter,  with  a 
laugh. 

The  Duchessa  laughed  too ;  and  then  there 
was  a  little  pause. 

Overhead,  never  so  light  a  breeze  lisped 
never  so  faintly  in  the  tree-tops ;  here  and  there 
bird-notes  fell,  liquid,  desultory,  like  drops  of 
rain  after  a  shower ;  and  constantly  one  heard 
the  cool  music  of  the  river.  The  sun,  filter 
ing  through  worlds  and  worlds  of  leaves,  shed 
upon  everything  a  green-gold  penumbra.  The 
air,  warm  and  still,  was  sweet  with  garden-scents. 
The  lake,  according  to  its  habit  at  this  hour  of 
the  afternoon,  had  drawn  a  grey  veil  over  its 
face,  a  thin  grey  veil,  through  which  its  sap 
phire-blue  shone  furtively.  Far  away,  in  the 
summer  haze,  Monte  Sfiorito  seemed  a  mere 
dim  spectre  of  itself  —  a  stranger  might  easily 
have  mistaken  it  for  a  vague  mass  of  cloud 
floating  above  the  horizon. 

"  Are  you  aware  that  it  *s  a  singularly  lovely 
afternoon  ? "  the  Duchessa  asked,  by  and  by. 

**  I  have  a  hundred  reasons  for  thinking  it 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

so,"  Peter  hazarded,  with  the  least  perceptible 
approach  to  a  meaning  bow. 

In  the  Duchessa's  face,  perhaps,  there  flick 
ered,  for  half-a-second,  the  least  perceptible 
light,  as  of  a  comprehending  and  unresentfu! 
smile.  But  she  went  on,  with  fine  aloofness  — 

"  I  rather  envy  you  your  river,  you  know. 
We  are  too  far  from  it  at  the  castle.  Is  n't  the 
sound,  the  murmur,  of  it  delicious  ?  And  its 
colour  —  how  does  it  come  by  such  a  subtle 
colour  ?  Is  it  green  r  Is  it  blue  ?  And  the 
diamonds  on  its  surface  —  see  how  they  glitter. 
You  know,  of  course,"  she  questioned,  "  who 
the  owner  is  of  those  unequalled  gems  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  Peter  answered,  "  the  lady  para 
mount  of  this  demesne  ?  " 

"  No,  no."  She  shook  her  head,  smiling. 
**  Undine.  They  are  Undine's  —  her  neck 
laces  and  tiaras.  No  mortal  woman's  jewel- 
case  contains  anything  half  so  brilliant.  But 
look  at  them  —  look  at  the  long  chains  of  them 
—  how  they  float  for  a  minute  —  and  are  then 
drawn  down.  They  are  Undine's  —  Undine 
and  her  companions  are  sporting  with  them 
just  below  the  surface.  A  moment  ago  I 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white  arm/' 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Ah,"  said  Peter,  nodding  thoughtfully, 
u  that 's  what  it  is  to  have  c  the  seeing  eye.* 
But  1  'm  grieved  to  hear  of  Undine  in  such  a 
wanton  mood.  I  had  hoped  she  would  still  be 
weeping  her  unhappy  love-affair." 

"  What !  with  that  horrid,  stolid  German  — 
Hiidebrandt,  was  his  name?"  cried  the  Du- 
chessa.  "  Not  she!  Long  ago,  I'm  glad  to  say, 
she  learned  to  laugh  at  that,  as  a  mere  caprice 
of  her  immaturity.  However,  this  is  a  digres 
sion.  I  want  to  return  to  our  '  Man  of 
Words.'  Tell  me  —  what  is  the  quality  you 
especially  like  in  it?" 

"  I  like  its  every  quality,"  Peter  affirmed, 
unblushing.  "  Its  style,  its  finish,  its  concen 
tration  ;  its  wit,  humour,  sentiment ;  its  texture, 
tone,  atmosphere ;  its  scenes,  its  subject ;  the 
paper  it's  printed  on,  the  type,  the  binding. 
But  above  all,  I  like  its  heroine.  I  think 
Pauline  de  Fleuvieres  the  pearl  of  human 
women  —  the  cleverest,  the  loveliest,  the  most 
desirable,  the  most  exasperating.  And  also  the 
most  feminine.  I  can't  think  of  her  at  all  as 
a  mere  fiction,  a  mere  shadow  on  paper.  I 
think  of  her  as  a  living,  breathing,  flesh-and- 
blood  woman,  whom  I  hive  actually  known, 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

I  can  see  her  before  me  now  —  I  can  see  her 
eyes,  full  of  mystery  and  mischief —  I  can  see 
her  exquisite  little  teeth,  as  she  smiles — I  can 
see  her  hair,  her  hands  —  I  can  almost  catch 
the  perfume  of  her  garments.  I  'm  utterly 
infatuated  with  her  —  I  could  commit  a  hun 
dred  follies  for  her." 

"Mercy  !  "  exclaimed  the  Duchessa.  "  You 
are  enthusiastic." 

"  The  book's  admirers  are  so  few,  they  must 
endeavour  to  make  up  in  enthusiasm  what  they 
lack  in  numbers,"  he  submitted. 

"  Bur — at  that  rate — why  are  they  so  few  ?  " 
she  puzzled.  "  If  the  book  is  all  you  think  it, 
how  do  you  account  for  its  unpopularity?  '" 

"  It  could  never  conceivably  be  anything 
but  unpopular,"  said  he.  "  It  has  the  fatal 
gift  of  beauty." 

The  Duchessa  laughed  surprise. 

"Is  beauty  a  fatal  gift  —  in  works  of  art  ?  " 

"Yes — in  England,"  he  declared. 

"  In  England  ?  Why  especially  in  Eng 
land?" 

"In  English-speaking  —  in  Anglo-Saxon  — 
lands,  if  you  prefer.  The  Anglo-Saxon  public 
is  beauty-blind*  They  have  fifty  religions  — 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

only  one  sauce  —  and  no  sense  of  beauty 
whatsoever.  They  can  see  the  nose  on  one's 
face  —  the  mote  in  their  neighbour's  eye  ;  they 
can  see  when  a  bargain  is  good,  when  a  war 
will  be  expedient.  But  the  one  thing  they 
can  never  see  is  beauty.  And  when,  by  some 
rare  chance,  you  catch  them  in  the  act  of  ad 
miring  a  beautiful  object,  it  will  never  be  for 
its  beauty — it  will  be  in  spite  of  its  beauty  — 
for  some  other,  some  extra-assthetic  interest  it 
possesses  —  some  topical  or  historical  interest. 
Beauty  is  necessarily  detached  from  all  that  is 
topical  or  historical,  or  documentary  or  actual. 
It  is  also  necessarily  an  effect  of  fine  shades, 
delicate  values,  vanishing  distinctions,  of 
evasiveness,  inconsequence,  suggestion.  It  is 
also  absolute,  unrelated  —  it  is  positive  or 
negative  or  superlative  —  it  is  never  compara 
tive.  Well,  the  Anglo-Saxon  public  is  totally 
insensible  to  such  things.  They  can  no  more 
feel  them,  than  a  blind  worm  can  feel  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow." 

She  laughed   again,  and  regarded  him  with 
an  air  of  humorous  meditation. 

"And   that  accounts  for  the  unsuccess   of 
•A  Man  of  Words'?" 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  You  might  as  well  offer  Francois  Villon 
a  banquet  of  Orient  pearls." 

"  You  are  bitterly  hard  on  the  Anglo-Saxon 
public.1' 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  disclaimed,  "  not  hard  —  but 
just.  I  wish  them  all  sorts  of  prosperity,  with 
a  little  more  taste." 

"  Oh,  but  surely,"  she  caught  him  up,  "  if 
their  taste  were  greater,  their  prosperity  would 
be  less  ? " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  he.  "The  Greeks 
were  fairly  prosperous,  were  n't  they  ?  And 
the  Venetians  ?  And  the  French  are  not  yet 
quite  bankrupt." 

Still  again  she  laughed  —  always  with  that 
little  air  of  humorous  meditation. 

"  You  —  you  don't  exactly  overwhelm  one 
with  compliments,"  she  observed. 

He  looked  alarm,  anxiety. 

"Don't  I?  What  have  I  neglected?"  he 
cried. 

"You've  never  once  evinced  the  slightest 
curiosity  to  learn  what  /  think  of  the  book  in 
question." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  sure  you  like  it,"  he  rejoined 
hardily.  "  You  have  c  the  seeing  eye.'  " 

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cc 


And  yet  I  'm  just,  a  humble  member  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  public." 

"No  —  you're  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  '  remnant.'  Thank  heaven, 
there  's  a  remnant,  a  little  scattered  remnant. 
I  'm  perfectly  sure  you  like  c  A  Man  of 
Words/  " 

" c  Like  it '  is  a  proposition  so  general. 
Perhaps  I  am  burning  to  tell  someone  what 
I  think  of  it  in  detail." 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes,  a  trifle  oddly. 

"  If  you  are,  then  I  know  someone  who  is 
burning  to  hear  you,"  he  avowed. 

"Well,  then,  I  think  — I  think  ..."  she 
began,  on  a  note  of  deliberation.  "  But  I  'm 
afraid,  just  now,  it  would  take  too  long  to 
formulate  my  thought.  Perhaps  I  '11  try  an 
other  day." 

She  gave  him  a  derisory  little  nod  —  and 
in  a  minute  was  well  up  the  lawn,  towards  the 
castle. 

Peter  glared  after  her,  his  fists  clenched, 
teeth  set. 

"  You  fiend  !  "  he  muttered.  Then,  turning 
savagely  upon  himself,  "  You  duffer !  " 

Nevertheless,  that  evening,  he  said  to  Mari- 
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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

etta,  "  The  plot  thickens.  We  Ve  advanced  a 
step.  We've  reached  what  the  vulgar  call  a 
psychological  moment.  She  's  seen  my  Por 
trait  of  a  Lady.  But  as  yet,  if  you  can  be 
lieve  me,  she  does  n't  dream  who  painted  it ; 
and  she  has  n't  recognised  the  subject.  As  if 
one  were  to  face  one's  image  in  the  glass,  and 
take  it  for  another's  !  I  —  I  '11  —  I  '11  double 
your  wages  —  if  you  will  induce  events  to 
hurry  up." 

However,  as   he   spoke  English,   Marietta 
was  in  no  position  to  profit  by  his  offer. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XIII 

PETER  was  walking  in  the  high-road,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  — the  great  high-road 
that  leads  from  Bergamo  to  Milan. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  already,  in 
the  west,  the  sky  was  beginning  to  put  on 
some  of  its  sunset  splendours.  In  the  east, 
framed  to  Peter's  vision  by  parallel  lines  of  pop 
lars,  it  hung  like  a  curtain  of  dark-blue  velvet. 

Peter  sat  on  the  grass,  by  the  roadside,  in 
the  shadow  of  a  hedge  —  a  rose-bush  hedge, 
of  course  —  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Far  down  the  long  white  road,  against  the 
blue  velvet  sky,  between  the  poplars,  two 
little  spots  of  black,  two  small  human  figures, 
were  moving  towards  him. 

Half  absently,  he  let  his  eyes  accompany 
them. 

As  they  came  nearer,  they  defined  themselves 
as  a  boy  and  a  girl.  Nearer  still,  he  saw  that 
they  were  ragged  and  dusty  and  barefoot 

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The  CardinaFs  Snuff-Box 

The  boy  had  three  or  four  gaudy-hued  wicker 
baskets  slung  over  his  shoulder. 

Vaguely,  tacitly.  Peter  supposed  that  they 
would  be  the  children  of  some  of  the  peasants 
of  the  countryside,  on  their  way  home  from 
the  village. 

As  they  arrived  abreast  of  him,  they  paid  him 
the  usual  peasants'  salute.  The  boy  lifted  a 
tattered  felt  hat  from  his  head,  the  girl  bobbed 
a  courtesy,  and  "  Buona  seray  Ecceltenza"  they 
said  in  concert,  without,  however,  pausing  in 
their  march. 

Peter  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

"  Here,  little  girl,"  he  called. 

The  little  girl  glanced  at  him,  doubting. 

"  Come  here,"  he  said. 

Her  face  a  question,  she  came  up  to  him ; 
and  he  gave  her  a  few  coppers. 

"  To  buy  sweetmeats/'  he  said. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Excellency,"  said  she, 
bobbing  another  courtesy. 

cc  A  thousand  thanks,  Excellency,"  said  the 
boy,  from  his  distance,  again  lifting  his  rag  of 
a  hat. 

And  they  trudged  on. 

But  Peter  looked  after  them  —  and  his  heart 
$  Si 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

smote  him0  They  were  clearly  of  the  poorest 
of  the  poor.  He  thought  of  Hansel  and 
Gretel.  Why  had  he  given  them  so  little  ? 
He  called  to  them  to  stop. 

The  little  girl  came  running  back. 

Peter  rose  to  meet  her. 

"  You  may  as  well  buy  some  ribbons  too," 
he  said,  and  gave  her  a  couple  of  lire. 

She  looked  at  the  money  with  surprise  — 
even  with  an  appearance  of  hesitation. 
Plainly,  it  was  a  sum,  in  her  eyes. 

<c  It 's  all  right.  Now  run  along,"  said 
Peter. 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Excellency,"  said 
she,  with  a  third  courtesy,  and  rejoined  her 
brother.  .  .  . 

"Where  are  they  going  ?"  asked  a  voice, 

Peter  faced  about. 

There  stood  the  Duchessa,  in  a  bicycling 
costume,  her  bicycle  beside  her.  Her  bicycling 
costume  was  of  blue  serge,  and  she  wore  a 
jaunty  sailor-hat  with  a  blue  ribbon.  Peter 
(in  spite  of  the  commotion  in  his  breast) 
was  able  to  remember  that  this  was  the 
first  time  he  had  seen  her  in  anything  but 
white. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Her  attention  was  all  upon  the  children— 
whom  he,  perhaps,  had  more  or  less  banished 
to  Cracklimbo. 

"  Where  are  they  going  ? "  she  repeated, 
trouble  in  her  voice  and  in  her  eyes. 

Peter  collected  himself. 

"  The  children  ?  I  don't  know  —  I  did  n't 
ask.  Home,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

"  Home  ?  Oh,  no.  They  don't  live  here 
abouts,"  she  said.  "  I  know  all  the  poor  of 
this  neighbourhood.  —  Ohe,  there  !  Children  ! 
Children  !  "  she  cried. 

But  they  were  quite  a  hundred  yards  away, 
and  did  not  hear. 

"  Do  you  wish  them  to  come  back  ?  "  asked 
Peter. 

"Yes  —  of  course,"  she  answered,  with  a 
shade  of  impatience. 

He  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips  (you  know  the 
schoolboy  accomplishment),  and  gave  a  long 
whistle. 

That  the  children  did  hear. 

They  halted,  and  turned  round,  looking, 
enquiring. 

"  Come  back  —  come  back  !  "  called  the 
Duchessa,  raising  her  hand,  and  beckoning. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

They  came  back. 

"  The  pathetic  little  imps,"  she  murmured* 
while  they  were  on  the  way. 

The  boy  was  a  sturdy,  square-built  fellow, 
of  twelve,  thirteen,  with  a  shock  of  brown  hair, 
brown  cheeks,  and  sunny  brown  eyes ;  with  a 
precocious  air  of  doggedness,  of  responsibility. 
He  wore  an  old  tail-coat,  the  tail-coat  of  a  man, 
ragged,  discoloured,  falling  to  his  ankles. 

The  girl  was  ten  or  eleven,  pale,  pinched; 
hungry,  weary,  and  sorry  looking.  Her  hair 
too  had  been  brown,  upon  a  time ;  but  now 
it  was  faded  to  something  near  the  tint  of 
ashes,  and  had  almost  the  effect  of  being  grey. 
Her  pale  little  forehead  was  crossed  by  thin 
wrinkles,  lines  of  pain,  of  worry,  like  an  old 
woman's. 

The  Duchessa,  pushing  her  bicycle,  and 
followed  by  Peter,  moved  down  the  road,  to 
meet  them.  Peter  had  never  been  so  near  to 
her  before  —  at  moments  her  arm  all  but 
brushed  his  sleeve.  I  think  he  blessed  the 
children. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  the  Duchessa 
asked,  softly,  smiling  into  the  girl's  sad  little 
face. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

The  girl  had  shown  no  fear  of  Peter;  but 
apparently  she  was  somewhat  frightened  by 
this  grand  lady.  The  toes  of  her  bare  feet 
worked  nervously  in  the  dust.  She  hung  her 
head  shyly,  and  eyed  her  brother. 

But  the  brother,  removing  his  hat,  with  the 
bow  of  an  Italian  peasant  —  and  that  is  to  say, 
the  bow  of  a  courtier —  spoke  up  bravely. 

"  To  Turin,  Nobility." 

He  said  it  in  a  perfectly  matter-of-fact  way, 
quite  as  he  might  have  said,  "  To  the  next 
farm-house." 

The  Duchessa,  however,  had  not  bargained 
for  an  answer  of  this  measure.  Startled,  doubt 
ing  her  ears  perhaps,  "To — Turin  — !"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  Excellency,"  said  the  boy. 

"  But  —  but  Turin  —  Turin  is  hundreds  of 
kilometres  from  here,"  she  said,  in  a  kind  of 
gasp. 

"  Yes,  Excellency,"  said  the  boy. 

"  You  are  going  to  Turin  —  you  two  children 
—  walking —  like  that ! "  she  persisted. 

"Yes,  Excellency." 

"  But  —  but  it  will  take  you  a  month." 

cc  Pardon,  noble  lady,"  said  the  boy.  "  With 
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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Excellency's  permission,  we  were  told  it 
should  take  fifteen  days." 

"  Where  do  you  corne  from  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  From  Bergamo,  Excellency." 
"  When  did  you  leave  Bergamo  ?  " 
"  Yesterday  morning,  Excellency." 
"  The  little  girl  is  your  sister  ?  " 
«  Yes,  Excellency." 
"  Have  you  a  mother  and  father  ?  " 
"  A  father,  Excellency.    The  mother  is  dead." 
Each  of  the  children  made  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross  ;  and  Peter  was  somewhat  surprised,  no 
doubt,  to  see  the  Duchessa  do  likewise.     He 
had  yet  to  learn  the  beautiful  custom   of  that 
pious  Lombard  land,  whereby,  when  the  Dead 
are  mentioned,  you  make  the  Sign  of  the  Cross, 
and,  pausing  reverently  for  a  moment,  say  in 
silence  the  traditional  prayer  of  the  Church  : 
"  May  their  souls  and  the  souls  of  all  the  faith 
ful  departed,  through  the  Mercy  of  God,  rest  in 
peace." 

"  And  where  is  your  father  ?  "  the  Duchessa 
asked. 

"  In  Turin,  Excellency/'  answered  the  boy. 
"He  is  a  glass-blower.  After  the  strike  at 
Bergamo,  he  went  to  Turin  to  seek  work, 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Now  he  has  found  it.     So  he  has  sent  for  us 
to  come  to  him." 

"  And  you  two  children  —  alone  —  are  going 
to  walk  all  the  way  to  Turin  ! "  She  could 
not  get  over  the  pitiful  wonder  of  it. 

"  Yes,  Excellency." 

"  The  heart-rending  little  waifs,"  she  said, 
in  English,  with  something  like  a  sob.  Then, 
in  Italian,  "  But  —  but  how  do  you  live  by 
the  way  ?  " 

The  boy  touched  his  shoulder-load  of 
baskets. 

"We  sell  these,  Excellency." 

"  What  is  their  price  ?  "  she  askedc 

"  Thirty  soldi,  Excellency." 

"  Have  you  sold  many  since  you  started  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  away ;  and  now  it  was  his 
turn  to  hang  his  head,  and  to  let  his  toes 
work  nervously  in  the  dust. 

"  Have  n't  you  sold  any  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 
drawing  her  conclusions. 

"  No,  Excellency.  The  people  would  not 
buy,"  he  owned,  in  a  dull  voice,  keeping  his 
eyes  down. 

" Poverino"  she  murmured.  "Where  are 
you  going  to  sleep  to-night  ? " 

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"  In  a  house,  Excellency,"  said  he. 

But  that  seemed  to  strike  the  Duchessa  as 
somewhat  vague. 

"  In  what  house  ?  "  she  asked. 

cc  I  do  not  know,  Excellency/*  he  confessed. 
"  We  will  find  a  house." 

"Would  you  like  to  come  back  with  me, 
and  sleep  at  my  house  ? " 

The  boy  and  girl  looked  at  each  other,  tak 
ing  mute  counsel. 

Then,  "  Pardon,  noble  lady  —  with  your 
Excellency's  permission,  is  it  far?"  the  boy 
questioned. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  not  very  near —  three  or 
four  kilometres." 

Again  the  children  looked  at  each  other, 
conferring.  Afterwards,  the  boy  shook  his 
head. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Excellency.  With 
your  permission,  we  must  not  turn  back.  We 
must  walk  on  till  later.  At  night  we  will  find 
a  house." 

"They  are  too  proud  to  own  that  their 
house  will  be  a  hedge,"  she  said  to  Peter, 
again  in  English.  "Aren't  you  hungry?" 
she  asked  the  children. 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"No,  Excellency.  We  had  bread  in  the 
village,  below  there,"  answered  the  boy. 

"You  will  not  come  home  with  me,  and 
have  a  good  dinner,  and  a  good  night's  sleep  ? " 

"  Pardon,  Excellency.  With  your  favour,  the 
father  would  not  wish  us  to  turn  back." 

The  Duchessa  looked  at  the  little  girl. 

The  little  girl  wore  a  medal  of  the  Im 
maculate  Conception  on  a  ribbon  round  her 
neck  —  a  forlorn  blue  ribbon,  soiled  and 

frayed. 

"Oh,  you  have  a  holy  medal,"  said  the 
Duchessa. 

"  Yes,  noble  lady,"  said  the  girl,  dropping 
a  courtesy,  and  lifting  up  her  sad  little  weaz 
ened  face. 

"  She  has  been  saying  her  prayers  all  along 
the  road,"  the  boy  volunteered. 

"That  is  right,"  approved  the  Duchessa. 
"  You  have  not  made  your  First  Communion 
yet,  have  you  ?  " 

«  No,  Excellency,"  said  the  girl.  "  I  shall 
make  it  next  year." 

"  And  you  ?  "  the  Duchessa  asked  the  boy. 

"  I  made  mine  at  Corpus  Christi,"  said  the 
boy,  with  a  touch  of  pride. 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

The  Duchessa  turned  to  Peter. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  have  n't  a  penny  in 
my  pocket.  I  have  come  out  without  my 
purse." 

"  How  much  ought  one  to  give  them  ?  " 
Peter  asked. 

"Of  course,  there  is  the  fear  that  they 
might  be  robbed,"  she  reflected.  "If  one 
should  give  them  a  note  of  any  value,  they 
would  have  to  change  it ;  and  they  would  prob 
ably  be  robbed.  What  to  do  ? " 

"  I  will  speak  to  the  boy,"  said  Peter. 
"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  Turin  by  train  ? " 
he  asked. 

The  boy  and  girl  looked  at  each  other. 

"Yes,  Excellency,"  said  the  boy. 

"  But  if  I  give  you  money  for  your  fare, 
will  you  know  how  to  take  care  of  it  —  how 
to  prevent  people  from  robbing  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Excellency." 

"  You  could  take  the  train  this  evening,  at 
Venzona,  about  two  kilometres  from  here,  in 
the  direction  you  are  walking.  In  an  hour  or 
two  you  would  arrive  at  Milan ;  there  you 
would  change  into  the  train  for  Turin.  You 
be  at  Turin  to-morrow  morning." 
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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

«  Yes,  Excellency." 

"  But  if  I  give  you  money,  you  will  not  let 
people  rob  you  ?  If  I  give  you  a  hundred  lire  ? " 

The  boy  drew  back,  stared,  as  if  frightened. 

"A  hundred  lire  —  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter. 

The  boy  looked  at  his  sister. 

"  Pardon,  Nobility,"  he  said.  "  With  your 
condescension,  does  it  cost  a  hundred  lire  to 
go  to  Turin  by  train?" 

"  Oh,  no.     I  think  it  costs  eight  or  ten." 

Again  the  boy  looked  at  his  sister. 

<c  Pardon,  Nobility.  With  your  Excel 
lency's  permission,  we  should  not  desire  a 
hundred  lire  then,"  he  said. 

Peter  and  the  Duchessa  were  not  altogether 
to  be  blamed,  I  hope,  if  they  exchanged  the 
merest  hint  of  a  smile. 

"  Well,  if  I  should  give  you  fifty  ? "  Peter 
asked. 

"Fifty  lire,  Excellency?" 

Peter  nodded. 

Still  again  the  boy  sought  counsel  of  his 
sister,  with  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  Excellency,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  sure  you  will  be  able  to  take  care 
9* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

of  it — you  will  not  let  people  rob  you,"  the 
Duchessa  put  in,  anxious.  "They  will  wish 
to  rob  you.  If  you  go  to  sleep  in  the  train, 
they  will  try  to  pick  your  pocket.'* 

<c  I  will  hide  it,  noble  lady.  No  one  shall 
rob  me.  If  I  go  to  sleep  in  the  train,  I  will 
sit  on  it,  and  my  sister  will  watch.  If  she 
goes  to  sleep,  I  will  watch/'  the  boy  promised 
confidently. 

"  You  must  give  it  to  him  in  the  smallest 
change  you  can  possibly  scrape  together,"  she 
advised  Peter. 

And  with  one-lira,  two-lira,  ten-lira  notes, 
and  with  a  little  silver  and  copper,  he  made  up 
the  amount. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Excellency,"  said  the 
boy,  with  a  bow  that  was  magnificent ;  and  he 
proceeded  to  distribute  the  money  between 
various  obscure  pockets. 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Excellency,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  courtesy. 

"  Addio,  e  buon  viaggio"  said  Peter. 

"  Addio,  Eccellenze"  said  the  boy. 

"  AddtOy  Eccellenze"  said  the  girl. 

But  the  Duchessa  impulsively  stooped  down, 
and  kissed  the  girl  on  her  poor  little  wrinkled 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

brow.  And  when  she  stood  up,  Peter  saw 
that  her  eyes  were  wet. 

The  children  moved  off.  They  moved  off, 
whispering  together,  and  gesticulating,  after 
the  manner  of  their  race :  discussing  some 
thing.  Presently  they  stopped;  and  the  boy 
came  running  back,  while  his  sister  waited. 

He  doffed  his  hat,  and  said,  "  A  thousand 
pardons,  Excellency  —  " 

«  Yes  ?     What  is  it  ? "  Peter  asked. 

"With  your  Excellency's  favour  —  is  it 
obligatory  that  we  should  take  the  train  ? " 

"  Obligatory  ?  "  puzzled  Peter.  "  How  do 
you  mean  ? " 

"  If  it  is  not  obligatory,  we  would  prefer, 
with  the  permission  of  your  Excellency,  to 
save  the  money." 

"  But  —  but  then  you  will  have  to  walk  !  " 
cried  Peter. 

c<  But  if  it  is  not  obligatory  to  take  the  train, 
we  would  pray  your  Excellency's  permission 
to  save  the  money.  We  should  like  to  save 
the  money,  to  give  it  to  the  father.  The 
father  is  very  poor.  Fifty  lire  is  so  much." 

This  time  it  was  Peter  who  looked  for 
counsel  to  the  Duchessa. 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Her  eyes,  still  bright  with  tears,  responded, 
cc  Let  them  do  as  they  will." 

"  No,  it  is  not  obligatory  —  it  is  only  re 
commended,"  he  said  to  the  boy,  with  a  smile 
that  he  could  n't  help.  "  Do  as  you  will.  But  if 
I  were  you,  I  should  spare  my  poor  little  feet/' 

"  Milk  grazie,  Eccellenze"  the  boy  said,  with 
a  final  sweep  of  his  tattered  hat.  He  ran  back 
to  his  sister ;  and  next  moment  they  were  walk 
ing  resolutely  on,  westward,  "  into  the  great 
red  light,8' 

The  Duchessa  and  Peter  were  silent  for  a 
while,  looking  after  them. 

They  dwindled  to  dots  in  the  distance,  and 
then,  where  the  road  turned,  disappeared. 

At  last  the  Duchessa  spoke  —  but  almost 
as  if  speaking  to  herself. 

"There,  Felix  Wildmay,  you  writer  of  tales, 
is  a  subject  made  to  your  hand,"  she  said. 

We  may  guess  whether  Peter  was  startled. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  had  found  him  out? 
A  sound,  confused,  embarrassed,  something 
composite,  between  an  oh  and  a  yes,  seemed  to 
expire  in  his  throat. 

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The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

But  the  Duchessa  did  n't  appear  to  heed  it. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  touching 
episode  for  your  friend  to  write  a  story  round  ?  " 
she  asked. 

We  may  guess  whether  he  was  relieved. 

"  Oh  —  oh,  yes/'  he  agreed,  with  the  precipi 
tancy  of  a  man  who,  in  his  relief,  would  agree 
to  anything. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  such  courage  ? "  she 
went  on.  "  The  wonderful  babies  !  Fancy  — 
fifteen  days,  fifteen  days  and  nights,  alone, 
unprotected,  on  the  highway,  those  poor  little 
atoms  !  Down  in  their  hearts  they  are  really 
filled  with  terror.  Who  would  n't  be,  with 
such  a  journey  before  him  ?  But  how  finely 
they  concealed  it,  mastered  it!  Oh,  I  hope 
they  won't  be  robbed.  God  help  them  — 
God  help  them  !  " 

"  God  help  them,  indeed,"  said  Peter. 

"  And  the  little  girl,  with  her  medal  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception.  The  father,  after 
all,  can  hardly  be  the  brute  one  might  suspect, 
since  he  has  given  them  a  religious  education. 
Oh,  I  am  sure,  I  am  sure,  it  was  the  Blessed 
Virgin  herself  who  sent  us  across  their  path,  in 
answer  to  that  poor  little  creature's  prayers." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


<c 


Yes,"  said  Peter,  ambiguously  perhaps^ 
But  he  liked  the  way  in  which  she  united  him 
to  herself  in  the  pronoun. 

"Which,  of  course,"  she  added,  smiling 
gravely  into  his  eyes,  cc  seems  the  height  of 
absurdity  to  you  ?  " 

"  Why  should  it  seem  the  height  of  absurdity 
to  me  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  are  a  Protestant,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  But  what  of  that  ?  At  all 
events,  I  believe  there  are  more  things  in 
heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamed  of  in  the 
usual  philosophies.  And  I  see  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  have  been  the  Blessed  Virgin 
who  sent  us  across  their  path." 

"  What  would  your  Protestant  pastors  and 
masters  do,  if  they  heard  you  ?  Is  n't  that 
what  they  call  Popish  superstition  ?  " 

"  I  daresay.  But  I  'm  not  sure  that  there  Ts 
any  such  thing  as  superstition.  Superstition, 
in  its  essence,  is  merely  a  recognition  of  the 
truth  that  in  a  universe  of  mysteries  and  con 
tradictions,  like  ours,  nothing  conceivable  or 
inconceivable  is  impossible." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  objected.  "  Superstition 
is  the  belief  in  something  that  is  ugly  and  bad 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

and  unmeaning.  That  is  the  difference  be 
tween  superstition  and  religion.  Religion  is 
the  belief  in  something  that  is  beautiful  and 
good  and  significant  —  something  that  throws 
light  into  the  dark  places  of  life  —  that  helps 
us  to  see  and  to  live." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peter, "  I  admit  the  distinction." 
After  a  little  suspension,  "  I  thought,"  he  ques 
tioned,  "  that  all  Catholics  were  required  to  go 
to  Mass  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"Of  course  —  so  they  are,"  said  she. 

"  But  —  but  you  —  "  he  began. 

"  I  hear  Mass  not  on  Sunday  only  —  I  hear 
it  every  morning  of  my  life." 

"Oh?  Indeed?  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he 
stumbled.  "I  —  one  —  one  never  sees  you  at 
the  village  church." 

"  No.  We  have  a  chapel  and  a  chaplain  at 
the  castle." 

She  mounted  her  bicycle. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  and  lightly  rode 
away. 

"  So-ho  !  Her  bigotry  is  not  such  a  negli- 
geable  quantity,  after  all,"  Peter  concluded. 

"  But  what,"  he  demanded  of  Marietta,  as 
she  ministered  to  his  wants  at  dinner,  <c  what 
7  97 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

does  one  barrier  more  or  less  matter,  when 
people  are  already  divided  by  a  gulf  that  never 
can  be  traversed  ?  You  see  that  river  ?  "  He 
pointed  through  his  open  window  to  the  Aco. 
"  It  is  a  symbol.  She  stands  on  one  side  of 
it,  I  stand  on  the  other,  and  we  exchange  little 
jokes.  But  the  river  is  always  there,  flowing 
between  us,  separating  us.  She  is  the  daughter 
of  a  lord,  and  the  widow  of  a  duke,  and  the 
fairest  of  her  sex,  and  a  millionaire,  and  a 
Roman  Catholic.  What  am  I  ?  Oh,  I  don't 
<^eny  I  'm  clever.  But  for  the  rest?  .  .  .  My 
dear  Marietta,  I  am  simply,  in  one  word,  the 
victim  of  a  misplaced  attachment." 
"  Non  capisco  Francese"  said  Marietta* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XIV 

AND  after  that,  for  I  forget  how  many  days, 
Peter  and  the  Duchessa  did  not  meet ;  and  so 
he  sank  low  and  lower  in  his  mind. 

Nothing  that  can  befall  us,  optimists  aver, 
is  without  its  value ;  and  this,  I  have  heard,  is 
especially  true  if  we  happen  to  be  literary  men. 
All  is  grist  that  comes  to  a  writer's  mill. 

By  his  present  experience,  accordingly,  Peter 
learned  —  and  in  the  regretful  prose  of  some 
future  masterpiece  will  perhaps  be  enabled  to 
remember  —  how  exceeding  great  is  the  im 
patience  of  the  love-sick,  with  what  febrile 
vehemence  the  smitten  heart  can  burn,  and  to 
what  improbable  lengths  hours  and  minutes 
can  on  occasions  stretch  themselves. 

He  tried  many  methods  of  distraction. 

There  was  always  the  panorama  of  his  valley 
—  the  dark-blue  lake,  pale  Monte  Sfiorito,  the 
frowning  Gnisi,  the  smiling  uplands  westward. 
There  were  always  the  sky,  the  clouds,  the 
clear  sunshine,  the  crisp-etched  shadows ;  and 

99 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

in  the  afternoon  there  was  always  the  won 
drous  opalescent  haze  of  August,  filling  every 
distance.  There  was  always  his  garden  — 
there  were  the  great  trees,  with  the  light  sift 
ing  through  high  spaces  of  feathery  green  ; 
there  were  the  flowers,  the  birds,  the  bees,  the 
butterflies,  with  their  colour,  and  their  fra 
grance,  and  their  music ;  there  was  his  tinkling 
fountain,  in  its  nimbus  of  prismatic  spray  ; 
there  was  the  swift,  symbolic  Aco.  And  then, 
at  a  half-hour's  walk,  there  was  the  pretty 
pink-stuccoed  village,  with  its  hill-top  church, 
its  odd  little  shrines,  its  grim-grotesque  ossu 
ary,  its  faded  frescoed  house-fronts,  its  busy, 
vociferous,  out-of-door  Italian  life:  —  the  cob 
bler  tapping  in  his  stall ;  women  gossiping  at 
their  toilets ;  children  sprawling  in  the  dirt, 
chasing  each  other,  shouting;  men  drinking, 
playing  mora,  quarrelling,  laughing,  singing, 
twanging  mandolines,  at  the  tables  under  the 
withered  bush  of  the  wine-shop ;  and  two  or 
three  more  pensive  citizens  swinging  their  legs 
from  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  and  angling 
for  fish  that  never  bit,  in  the  impetuous  stream 
below. 

Peter  looked  at  these  things ;  and,  it  5s  to 

100 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

be  presumed,  he  saw  them.  But,  for  all  tne 
joy  they  gave  him,  he,  this  cultivator  of  the 
sense  of  beauty,  might  have  been  the  basest 
unit  of  his  own  purblind  Anglo-Saxon  public. 
They  were  the  background  for  an  absent  fig 
ure.  They  were  the  stage-accessories  of  a 
drama  whose  action  was  arrested.  They  were 
an  empty  theatre. 

He  tried  to  read.  He  had  brought  a  trunk- 
ful  of  books  to  Villa  Floriano  ;  but  that  book 
had  been  left  behind  which  could  fix  his  interest 
now. 

He  tried  to  write  —  and  wondered,  in  a  kind 
of  daze,  that  any  man  should  ever  have  felt 
the  faintest  ambition  to  do  a  thing  so  thank 
less  and  so  futile. 

"  I  shall  never  write  again.  Writing,"  he 
generalised,  and  possibly  not  without  some 
reason,  "  when  it  is  n't  the  sordidest  of  trades, 
is  a  mere  fatuous  assertion  of  one's  egotism. 
Breaking  stones  in  the  street  were  a  nobler 
occupation  ;  weaving  ropes  of  sand  were  better 
sport.  The  only  things  that  are  worth  writing 
are  inexpressible,  and  can't  be  written.  The 
only  things  that  can  be  written  are  obvious 
and  worthless  —  the  very  crackling  of  thorns 
jo  i 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

under   a    pot.       Oh,    why    does  n't    she    turn 
up?" 

And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  at  any  mo 
ment,  for  aught  he  knew,  she  might  turn  up. 
That  was  the  worst  of  it,  and  the  best.  It 
kept  hope  alive,  only  to  torture  hope.  It  en 
couraged  him  to  wait,  to  watch,  to  expect;  to 
linger  in  his  garden,  gazing  hungry-eyed  up 
the  lawns  of  Ventirose,  striving  to  pierce  the 
foliage  that  embowered  the  castle ;  to  wander 
the  country  round-about,  scanning  every  vista, 
scrutinising  every  shape  and  shadow,  a  tweed- 
clad  Gastibelza.  At  any  moment,  indeed,  she 
might  turn  up;  but  the  days  passed  —  the 
hypocritic  days  —  and  she  did  not  turn  up. 


Marietta,  the  kind  soul,  noticing  his  de 
spondency,  sought  in  divers  artless  ways  to 
cheer  him. 

One  evening  she  burst  into  his  sitting-room 
with  the  effect  of  a  small  explosion,  excitement 
in  every  line  of  her  brown  old  face  and  wiry 
little  figure. 

uThe  fireflies!  The  fireflies,  Signorino  I*9 
she  cried,  with  strenuous  gestures. 


K02 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

*  What  fireflies  ? "  asked  he,  with  phlegm, 

**  It  is  the  feast  of  St.  Dominic.  The  fire 
flies  have  arrived.  They  arrive  every  year  on 
the  feast  of  St.  Dominic.  They  are  the  beads 
of  his  rosary.  They  are  St.  Dominic's  Aves. 
There  are  thousands  of  them.  Come,  Sig- 
norino.  Come  and  see." 

Her  black  eyes  snapped.  She  waved  her 
hands  urgently  towards  the  window. 

Peter  languidly  got  up,  languidly  crossed 
the  room,  looked  out. 

There  were,  in  truth,  thousands  of  them, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  tiny  primrose 
flames,  circling,  fluttering,  rising,  sinking,  in 
the  purple  blackness  of  the  night,  like  snow- 
flakes  in  a  wind,  palpitating  like  hearts  of 
living  gold  —  Jove  descending  upon  Danae 
invisible. 

"  Son  tarin\  eh  ?  "  cried  eager  Marietta, 

"  Hum  —  yes  —  pretty  enough/*  he  grudg 
ingly  acknowledged.  "  But  even  so  ?  "  the 
ingrate  added,  as  he  turned  away,  and  let  him 
self  drop  back  into  his  lounging-chair.  "  My 
dear  good  woman,  no  amount  of  prettiness  can 
disguise  the  fundamental  banality  of  things. 
Your  fireflies— St.  Dominic's  beads,  if  you 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

like  —  and,  apropos  of  that,  do  you  know 
what  they  call  them  in  America  ?  —  they  call 
them  lightning-bugs,  if  you  can  believe  me  — 
remark  the  difference  between  southern  euphu 
ism  and  western  bluntness  —  your  fireflies 
are  pretty  enough,  1  grant.  But  they  are 
tinsel  pasted  on  the  Desert  of  Sahara.  They 
are  condiments  added  to  a  dinner  of  dust  and 
ashes.  Life,  trick  it  out  as  you  will,  is  just  an 
incubus  —  is  just  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea. 
Language  fails  me  to  convey  to  you  any 
notion  how  heavily  he  sits  on  my  poor  shoul 
ders.  I  thought  I  had  suffered  from  ennui  in 
my  youth.  But  the  malady  merely  plays  with 
the  green  fruit ;  it  reserves  its  serious  ravages 
for  the  ripe.  I  can  promise  you  'tis  not  a 
laughing  matter.  Have  you  ever  had  a  fixed 
idea?  Have  you  ever  spent  days  and  nights 
racking  your  brain,  importuning  the  unanswer- 
ing  Powers,  to  learn  whether  there  was  —  well, 
whether  there  was  Another  Man,  for  instance? 
Oh,  bring  me  drink.  Bring  me  Seltzer  water 
and  Vermouth.  I  will  seek  nepenthe  at  the 
bottom  of  the  wine-cup." 

Was  there  another  man  ?   Why  should  there 
not  be  ?   And  yet  was  there  ?    In  her  continued 
104 


The  Cardinal's  Smiff-Box 

absence,  the  question  came  back  persistently, 
and  scarcely  contributed  to  his  peace  of  mind. 


«c 


A    few    days    later,    nothing    discouraged, 

Would  you  like  to  have  a  good  laugh, 
Signorino  ?  "  Marietta  enquired. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  apathetic. 

"  Then  do  me  the  favour  to  come,"  she  said. 

She  led  him  out  of  his  garden,  to  the  gate 
of  a  neighbouring  meadow.  A  beautiful  black- 
horned  white  cow  stood  there,  her  head  over  the 
bars,  looking  up  and  down  the  road,  and  now 
and  then  uttering  a  low  distressful  "  moo." 

"  See  her,"  said  Marietta. 

« I  see  her.     Well  —  ? "  said  Peter. 

"  This  morning  they  took  her  calf  from  her 
—  to  wean  it,"  said  Marietta. 

"Did  they,  the  cruel  things?  Well  —  ?" 
said  he. 

"  And  ever  since,  she  has  stood  there  by  the 
gate,  looking  down  the  road,  waiting,  calling." 

*  The  poor  dear.     Well  —  ?  "  said  he. 

"  But  do  you  not  see,  Signorino  ?  Look  at 
her  eyes.  She  is  weeping  —  weeping  like  a 
Christian," 

Mf 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Peter  looked  —  and,  sure  enough,  from  the 
poor  cow's  eyes  tears  were  falling,  steadily, 
rapidly  :  big  limpid  tears  that  trickled  down  her 
cheek,  her  great  homely  hairy  cheek,  and 
dropped  on  the  grass  :  tears  of  helpless  pain, 
uncomprehending  endurance.  "Why  have 
they  done  this  thing  to  me?"  they  seemed 
dumbly  to  cry. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  cow  weep  before  ? 
Is  it  comical,  at  least  ?  "  demanded  Marietta, 
exultant. 

"  Comical — ?"  Petergasped,  "  Comical  — !' 

he  groaned.  .  .  . 

But  then  he  spoke  to  the  cow, 

"  Poor  dear  —  poor  dear/*  he  repeated. 
He  patted  her  soft  warm  neck,  and  scratched 
her  between  the  horns  and  along  the  dewlap 
"  Poor  dear  —  poor  dear." 

The  cow  lifted  up  her  head,  and  rested  her 
great  chin  on  Peter's  shoulder,  breathing  upon 

his  face. 

"  Yes,  you  know  that  we  are  companions  in 
misery,  don't  you  ? "  he  said.  "  They  have 
taken  my  calf  from  me  too  — though  my  calf, 
indeed,  was  only  a  calf  in  an  extremely  meta 
phorical  sense  — and  it  never  was  exactly  mine, 

JO'S 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

anyhow  —  I  daresay  it 's  belonged  from  the 
beginning  to  another  man.  You,  at  least, 
have  n't  that  gall  arid  wormwood  added  to  your 
cup.  And  now  you  must  really  try  to  pull 
yourself  together.  It 's  no  good  crying.  And 
besides,  there  are  more  calves  in  the  sea  than 
have  ever  been  taken  from  it.  You'll  have  a 
much  handsomer  and  fatter  one  next  time. 
And  besides,  you  must  remember  that  your 
loss  subserves  someone  else's  gain  —  the  farmer 
would  never  have  done  it  if  it  had  n't  been 
to  his  advantage.  If  you  're  an  altruist, 
that  should  comfort  you.  And  you  mustn't 
mind  Marietta,  —  you  must  n't  mind  her 
laughter.  Marietta  is  a  Latin.  The  Latin 
conception  of  what  is  laughable  differs  by  the 
whole  span  of  heaven  from  the  Teuton.  You 
and  I  are  Teutons." 

"Teutons  —  ?"  questioned  Marietta  wrink 
ling  her  brow. 

"  Yes  —  Germanic,"  said  he, 

"  But  I  thought  the  Signorino  was  English  ? " 

"  So  he  is." 

"But  the  cow  is  not  Germanic.  White, 
with  black  horns,  that  is  the  purest  Roman 
breed,  Signorino/' 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Fa  nientey"  he  instructed  her.  "Cows 
and  Englishmen,  and  all  such  sentimental 
cattle,  including  Germans,  are  Germanic.  Ital 
ians  are  Latin  —  with  a  touch  of  the  Goth  and 
Vandal.  Lions  and  tigers  growl  and  fight  be 
cause  they're  Mohammedans.  Dogs  still  bear 
without  abuse  the  grand  old  name  of  Syco 
phant.  Cats  are  of  the  princely  line  of  Persia, 
and  worship  fire,  fish,  and  flattery  —  as  you 
may  have  noticed.  Geese  belong  indiffer 
ently  to  any  race  you  like  —  they  are  cosmo 
politans  j  and  I  Ve  known  here  and  there  a 
person  who,  without  distinction  of  nationality, 
was  a  duck.  In  fact,  you  're  rather  by  way  of 
being  a  duck  yourself.  And  now,"  he  pero 
rated,  "  never  deny  again  that  I  can  talk  non 
sense  with  an  aching  heart." 

"All  the  same,"  insisted  Marietta,  "it  is 
very  comical  to  see  a  cow  weep." 

"  At  any  rate,"  retorted  Peter,  "  it  is  not  in 
the  least  comical  to  hear  a  hyaena  laugh." 

"  I  have  never  heard  one,"  said  she. 

"  Pray  that  you  never  may.  The  sound 
would  make  an  old  woman  of  you.  It's 
quite  blood-curdling." 

"  Davvero?"  said  Marietta. 

10* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Davvero"  he  assured  her. 

And  meanwhile  the  cow  stood  there,  with 
her  head  on  his  shoulder,  silently  weeping, 
weeping. 

He  gave  her  a  farewell  rub  along  the  nose. 

"  Good-bye/'  he  said.  "  Your  breath  is 
like  meadowsweet.  So  dry  your  tears,  and 
set  your  hopes  upon  the  future.  I  '11  come 
and  see  you  again  to-morrow,  and  I  '11  bring 
you  some  nice  coarse  salt.  Good-bye." 

But  when  he  went  to  see  her  on  the  mor 
row,  she  was  grazing  peacefully ;  and  she  ate 
the  salt  he  brought  her  with  heart-whole 
bovine  relish  —  putting  out  her  soft  white  pad 
of  a  tongue,  licking  it  deliberately  from  his 
hand,  savouring  it  tranquilly,  and  crunching 
the  bigger  grains  with  ruminative  enjoyment 
between  her  teeth.  So  soon  consoled  !  They 
were  companions  in  misery  no  longer.  "  I  'm 
afraid  you  are  a  Latin,  after  all,"  he  said,  and 
left  her  with  a  sense  of  disappointment. 


That  afternoon    Marietta   asked,   "Would 
you  care  to  visit  the  castle,  Signorino  ? " 
He  was  seated  under  his  willow-tree,  by  the 
109 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

river,  smoking  cigarettes  —  burning  superflu 
ous  time. 

Marietta  pointed  towards  Ventirose. 
"  Why  ? "  said  he. 

"The  family  are  away.  In  the  absence  of 
the  family,  the  public  are  admitted,  upon  pres 
entation  of  their  cards." 

"Oho!"    he   cried.     "So    the   family    are 
away,  are  they?" 
"  Yes,  Signorino.** 

"  Aha ! "  cried  he.  "  The  family  are  away. 
That  explains  everything.  Have  —  have  they 
been  gone  long  ? " 

"  Since  a  week,  ten  days,  Signorino/' 
"  A  week  !     Ten  days  ! "     He  started  up,  in 
dignant.     "  You  secretive  wretch  !     Why  have 
you  never  breathed  a  word  of  this  to  me  ?  " 
Marietta  looked  rather  frightened. 
"  I  did  not  know  it  myself,  Signorino,"  was 
her  meek  apology.     "  I  heard  it  in  the  village 
this  morning,  when  the  Signorino  sent  me  to 
buy  coarse  salt." 

"Oh,  I  see."  He  sank  back  upon  his 
rustic  bench.  "You  are  forgiven."  He  ex 
tended  his  hand  in  sign  of  absolution.  :f  Are 
they  ever  coming  back  ? 


iro 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Naturally,  Signorino." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  But  they  will  naturally  come  back/* 

"  I  felicitate  you  upon  your  simple  faith, 
When?" 

"  Ohyfra  poco.     They  have  gone  to  Rome." 

"  To  Rome  ?  You  're  trifling  with  me. 
People  do  not  go  to  Rome  in  August." 

"  Pardon,  Signorino.  People  go  to  Rome 
for  the  feast  of  the  Assumption.  That  is  the 
1 5th.  Afterwards  they  come  back,"  said 
Marietta,  firmly. 

"  I  withdraw  my  protest,"  said  Peter.  "  They 
have  gone  to  Rome  for  the  feast  of  the  Assump 
tion.  Afterwards  they  will  come  back." 

"  Precisely,  Signorino.  But  you  have  now 
the  right  to  visit  the  castle,  upon  presentation 
of  your  card.  You  address  yourself  to  the 
porter  at  the  lodge.  The  castle  is  grand, 
magnificent.  The  Court  of  Honour  alone  is 
thirty  metres  long." 

Marietta  stretched  her  hands  to  right  and 
left  as  far  as  they  would  go. 

u  Marietta,"  Peter  enquired  solemnly,  "  are 
you  familiar  with  the  tragedy  of  *  Hamlet*  ?  ** 

Marietta  blinked. 

XII 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

<c  No,  Signorino." 

"  You  have  never  read  it,"  he  pursued, cc  in 
that  famous  edition  from  which  the  character 
of  the  Prince  of  Denmark  happened  to  be 
omitted?  " 

Marietta  shook  her  head,  wearily,  patiently. 

Wearily,  patiently,  "No,  Signorino,"  she 
replied. 

"  Neither  have  I,"  said  he,  "  and  I  don't 
desire  to." 

Marietta  shrugged  her  shoulders ;  then  re 
turned  gallantly  to  her  charge. 

"If  you  would  care  to  visit  the  castle, 
Signorino,  you  could  see  the  crypt  which  con 
tains  the  tombs  of  the  family  of  Farfalla,  the 
former  owners.  They  are  of  black  marble 
and  alabaster,  with  gilding  —  very  rich.  You 
could  also  see  the  wine-cellars.  Many  years 
ago  a  tun  there  burst,  and  a  serving  man  was 
drowned  in  the  wine.  You  could  also  see  the 
bed  in  which  Nabulione,  the  Emperor  of 
Europe,  slept,  when  he  was  in  this  country. 
Also  the  ancient  kitchen.  Many  years  ago, 
in  a  storm,  the  skeleton  of  a  man  fell  down 
the  chimney,  out  upon  the  hearth.  Also 
what  is  called  the  Court  of  Foxes.  Many 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

years  ago  there  was  a  plague  of  foxes;  and 
the  foxes  came  down  from  the  forest  like  a 
great  army,  thousands  of  them.  And  the 
lords  of  the  castle,  and  the  peasants,  and  the 
village  people,  all,  all,  had  to  run  away  like 
rabbits  —  or  the  foxes  would  have  eaten  them. 
It  was  in  what  they  call  the  Court  of  Foxes 
that  the  King  of  the  foxes  held  his  court. 
There  is  also  the  park.  In  the  park  there 
are  statues,  ruins,  and  white  peacocks." 

"  What  have  I  in  common  with  ruins  and 
white  peacocks  ? "  Peter  demanded  tragically, 
when  Marietta  had  brought  her  much-gesticu 
lated  exposition  to  a  close.  "  Let  me  impress 
upon  you  once  for  all  that  I  am  not  a  tripper. 
As  for  your  castle  —  you  invite  me  to  a  ban 
quet-hall  deserted.  As  for  your  park,  I  see 
quite  as  much  of  it  as  I  wish  to  see,  from  the 
seclusion  of  my  own  pleached  garden.  I 
learned  long  ago  the  folly  of  investigating 
things  too  closely,  the  wisdom  of  leaving 
things  in  the  vague.  At  present  the  park  of 
Ventirose  provides  me  with  the  raw  material  for 
day-dreams.  It  is  a  sort  of  looking-glass  coun 
try, —  I  can  see  just  so  far  into  it,  and  ho  farther 
—  all  that  lies  beyond  is  mystery,  is  potential* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

ity  —  is  terra  incognita,  which  I  can  populate 
with  monsters  or  pleasant  phantoms,  at  my 
whim.  Why  should  you  attempt  to  deprive 
me  of  so  innocent  a  recreation  ?  " 

"  After  the  return  of  the  family,"  said  Mari 
etta,  "  the  public  will  no  longer  be  admitted. 
Meantime  —  " 

"  Upon  presentation  of  my  card,  the  porter 
will  conduct  me  from  disenchantment  to  dis 
enchantment.  No,  thank  you.  Now,  if  it 
were  the  other  way  round,  it  would  be  dif 
ferent.  If  it  were  the  castle  and  the  park  that 
had  gone  to  Rome,  and  if  the  family  could  be 
visited  on  presentation  of  my  card,  I  might  be 
tempted." 

*c  But  that  would  be  impossible,  Signorino/1 
said  Marietta. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XV 


BEATRICE  was  talking  with  a  priest— nay,  I 
am  not  sure  it  would  n't  be  more  accurate  to 
say  conspiring  with  a  priest :  but  you  shall 
judge. 

They  were  in  a  room  of  the  Palazzo  Udes- 
chini,  at  Rome  —  a  reception  room,  on  the 
piano  nobile.  Therefore  you  see  it:  for  are 
not  all  reception-rooms  in  Roman  palaces 
alike  ? 

Vast,  lofty,  sombre  ;  the  walls  hung  with 
dark-green  tapestry  —  a  pattern  of  vertical 
stripes,  dark  green  and  darker  green ;  here 
and  there  a  great  dark  painting,  a  Crucifixion, 
a  Holy  Family,  in  a  massive  dim-gold  frame; 
dark-hued  rugs  on  the  tiled  floor ;  dark  pieces 
of  furniture,  tables,  cabinets,  dark  and  heavy ; 
and  tall  windows,  bare  of  curtains  at  this  sea 
son,  opening  upon  a  court  —  a  wide  stone- 
paved  court,  planted  with  fantastic-leaved 
eucalyptus-trees,  in  the  midst  of  which  a 
"5 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

brown  old  fountain,  indefatigable,  played  its 
sibilant  monotone. 

In  the  streets  there  were  the  smells,  the 
noises,  the  heat,  the  glare  of  August  —  of 
August  in  Rome,  "  the  most  Roman  of  the 
months,"  they  say ;  certainly  the  hottest,  noisi 
est,  noisomest,  and  most  glaring.  But  here 
all  was  shadow,  coolness,  stillness,  fragrance  — 
the  fragrance  of  the  clean  air  coming  in  from 
among  the  eucalyptus-trees. 

Beatrice,  critical-eyed,  stood  before  a  pier- 
glass,  between  two  of  the  tall  windows,  turning 
her  head  from  side  to  side,  craning  her  neck  a 
little  —  examining  (if  I  must  confess  it)  the 
effect  of  a  new  hat.  It  was  a  very  stunning 
hat  —  if  a  man's  opinion  hath  any  perti 
nence  ;  it  was  beyond  doubt  very  compli 
cated.  There  was  an  upward-springing  black 
brim  ;  there  was  a  downward-sweeping  black 
feather;  there  was  a  defiant  white  aigrette  — 
not  unlike  the  Shah  of  Persia's ;  there  were 
glints  of  red. 

The  priest  sat  in  an  arm-chair  —  one  of 
those  stiff,  upright  Roman  arm-chairs,  which 
no  one  would  ever  dream  of  calling  easy- 
chairs,  high-backed,  covered  with  hard  leather^ 
lit 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

studded  with  steel  nails  —  and  watched  her, 
smiling  amusement,  indulgence. 

He  was  an  oldish  priest  —  sixty,  sixty-five. 
He  was  small,  lightly  built,  lean-faced,  with 
delicate-strong  features :  a  prominent,  delicate 
nose  ;  a  well-marked,  delicate  jaw-bone,  ending 
in  a  prominent,  delicate  chin  ;  a  large,  humor 
ous  mouth,  the  full  lips  delicately  chiselled ;  a 
high,  delicate,  perhaps  rather  narrow  brow,  ris 
ing  above  humorous  grey  eyes,  rather  deep- 
set.  Then  he  had  silky-soft  smooth  white  hair, 
and,  topping  the  occiput,  a  tonsure  that  might 
have  passed  for  a  natural  bald  spot. 

He  was  decidedly  clever-looking;  he  was 
aristocratic-looking,  distinguished-looking;  but 
he  was,  above  all,  pleasant-looking,  kindly- 
looking,  sweet-looking. 

He  wore  a  plain  black  cassock,  by  no 
means  in  its  first  youth  —  brown  along  the 
seams,  and,  at  the  salient  angles,  at  the  shoul 
ders,  at  the  elbows,  shining  with  the  lustre  of 
hard  service.  Even  without  his  cassock,  I  ima 
gine,  you  would  have  divined  him  for  a  clergy 
man —  he  bore  the  clerical  impress,  that  odd 
indefinable  air  of  clericism  which  everyone  re 
cognises,  though  it  might  not  be  altogether  easy 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

to  tell  just  where  or  from  what  it  takes  its  ori 
gin.  In  the  garb  of  an  Anglican  —  there  being 
nothing,  at  first  blush,  necessarily  Italian,  ne 
cessarily  un-English,  in  his  face — he  would 
have  struck  you,  I  think,  as  a  pleasant,  shrewd 
old  parson  of  the  scholarly-earnest  type,  mildly 
donnish,  with  a  fondness  for  gentle  mirth. 
What,  however,  you  would  scarcely  have  di 
vined  —  unless  you  had  chanced  to  notice,  in 
conspicuous  in  this  sober  light,  the  red  sash 
round  his  waist,  or  the  amethyst  on  the  third 
finger  of  his  right  hand — was  his  rank  in  the 
Roman  hierarchy.  I  have  the  honour  of  pre 
senting  his  Eminence  Egidio  Maria  Cardinal 
Udeschini,  formerly  Bishop  of  Cittareggio, 
Prefect  of  the  Congregation  of  Archives  and 
Inscriptions. 

That  was  his  title  ecclesiastical.  He  had 
two  other  titles.  He  was  a  Prince  of  the 
Udeschini  by  accident  of  birth.  But  his  third 
title  was  perhaps  his  most  curious.  It  had 
been  conferred  upon  him  informally  by  the 
populace  of  the  Roman  slum  in  which  his 
titular  church,  St.  Mary  of  the  Lilies,  was 
situated:  the  little  Uncle  of  the  Poor. 

As  Italians  measure  wealth,  Cardinal  Udes- 
118 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

chim  was  a  wealthy  man.  What  with  his 
private  fortune  and  official  stipends,  he  com 
manded  an  income  of  something  like  a  hun 
dred  thousand  lire.  He  allowed  himself  five 
thousand  lire  a  year  for  food,  clothing,  and 
general  expenses.  Lodging  and  service  he 
had  for  nothing  in  the  palace  of  his  family. 
The  remaining  ninety-odd  thousand  lire  of  his 
budget  .  .  o  Well,  we  all  know  that  titles 
can  be  purchased  in  Italy;  and  that  was  no 
doubt  the  price  he  paid  for  the  title  I  have 
mentioned. 

However,  it  was  not  in  money  only  that 
Cardinal  Udeschini  paid.  He  paid  also  in 
labour,  I  have  said  that  his  titular  church 
v-as  in  a  slum.  Rome  surely  contained  no 
slum  more  fetid,  none  more  perilous  —  a 
region  of  cut-throat  alleys,  south  of  the  Ghetto, 
along  the  Tiber  bank.  Night  after  night, 
accompanied  by  his  stout  young  vicar,  Don 
Giorgio  Appolloni,  the  Cardinal  worked  there 
as  hard  as  any  hard-working  curate:  visiting 
the  sick,  comforting  the  afflicted,  admonishing 
the  knavish,  persuading  the  drunken  from 
their  taverns,  making  peace  between  the  com 
bative.  Not  infrequently,  when  he  came 

IIQ 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

home,  he  would  add  a  pair  of  stilettos  to 
his  already  large  collection  of  such  relics. 
And  his  home-comings  were  apt  to  be  late  — 
oftener  than  not,  after  midnight;  and  some 
times,  indeed,  in  the  vague  twilight  of  morn 
ing,  at  the  hour  when,  as  he  once  expressed 
it  to  Don  Giorgio,  "  the  tired  burglar  is  just 
lying  down  to  rest."  And  every  Saturday 
evening  the  Cardinal  Prefect  of  Archives  and 
Inscriptions  sat  for  three  hours  boxed  up  in 
his  confessional,  like  any  parish  priest  —  in  his 
confessional  at  St.  Mary  of  the  Lilies,  where 
the  penitents  who  breathed  their  secrets  into 
his  ears,  and  received  his  fatherly  counsels  .  .  . 
I  beg  your  pardon.  One  must  not,  of  course, 
remember  his  rags  or  his  sores,  when  Lazarus 
approaches  that  tribunal. 

But  I  don't  pretend  that  the  Cardinal  was 
a  saint;  I  am  sure  he  was  not  a  prig.  For 
all  his  works  of  supererogation,  his  life  was  a 
life  of  pomp  and  luxury  v  compared  to  the 
proper  saint's  life.  He  wore  no  hair  shirt ; 
I  doubt  if  he  knew  the  taste  of  the  Discipline. 
He  had  his  weaknesses,  his  foibles — -even,  if 
you  will,  his  vices,  i  have  intimated  that  he 
was  fond  of  a  jest  "  The  Sacred  College/'  I 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Heard  him  remark  one  day,  "  has  fifty  centres 
of  gravity.  I  sometimes  fear  that  I  am  its 
centre  of  levity."  He  was  also  fond  of  music. 
He  was  also  fond  of  snuff. 

a'Tis  an  abominable  habit/'  he  admitted. 
"  I  can't  tolerate  it  at  all  —  in  others.  When 
I  was  Bishop  of  Cittareggio,  I  discountenanced 
it  utterly  among  my  clergy.  But  for  myself 

—  I   need  not  say  there  are  special  circum 
stances.     Oddly  enough,  by  the  bye,  at  Cit- 
tareggio  each  separate  member  of  my  clergy 
was  able   to   plead  special    circumstances   for 
/toself.     I  have  tried  to  give  it  up,  and  the 
effort  has  spoiled  my  temper — turned  me  into 
a  perfect  old   shrew.     For  my  friends"  sake, 
therefore,  I  appease  myself  with  an  occasional 
pinch.     You  see,  tobacco  is  antiseptic.      It's 
an  excellent  preservative  of  the  milk  of  human 
kindness." 

The  friends  in  question  kept  him  supplied 
with  sound  rappee,  Jests  and  music  he  was 
abundantly  competent  to  supply  himself.  He 
played  the  piano  arid  the  organ,  and  he  sang 

—  in  a  clear,  sweet,  slightly  faded  tenor.     Of 
secular   composers    his    favourites   were  "the 
lucid  Scarlatti,  the  luminous  Bach."     But  the 

122 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

music  that  roused  him  to  enthusiasm  was  Gre 
gorian.  He  would  have  none  other  at  St.  Mary 
of  the  Lilies.  He  had  trained  his  priests  and 
his  people  there  to  sing  it  admirably  —  you 
should  have  heard  them  sing  Vespers ;  and  he 
sang  it  admirably  himself — you  should  have 
heard  him  sing  a  Mass  —  you  should  have 
heard  that  sweet  old  tenor  voice  of  his  in  the 
Preface  and  the  Pater  Noster, 


So,  then,  Beatrice  stood  before  a  pier-glass, 
and  studied  her  new  hat ;  whilst  the  Cardinal, 
amused,  indulgent,  sat  in  his  high-backed  arm 
chair,  and  watched  her. 

"Well  —  ?  What  do  you  think?"  she 
asked,  turning  towards  him. 

"You  appeal  to  me  as  an  expert?"  he 
questioned. 

His  speaking-voice,  as  we!)  as  his  singing- 
voice,  was  sweet,  but  with  a  kind  of  trenchant 
edge  upon  it,  a  genial  asperity,  that  gave  it 
character,  tang. 

"As  one  who  should  certainly  be  able  to 
advise,"  said  she, 

"Well,  then  — "   said    he.      He   took    his 


122 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

chin  into  his  hand,  as  if  it  were  a  beard,  and 
looked  up  at  her,  considering ;  and  the  lines  of 
amusement  —  the  "  parentheses  "  —  deepened 
at  either  side  of  his  mouth.  "  Well,  then,  1 
think  if  the  feather  were  to  be  lifted  a  little 
higher  in  front,  and  brought  down  a  little 
lower  behind  —  " 

"  Good  gracious,  I  don't  mean  my  hat," 
cried  Beatrice.  "  What  in  the  world  can  an 
old  dear  like  you  know  about  hats  ? " 

There  was  a  further  deepening  of  the 
parentheses. 

"  Surely,"  he  contended, cc  a  cardinal  should 
know  much.  Is  it  not  *  the  badge  of  all  our 
tribe,'  as  your  poet  Byron  says  ?  *r 

Beatrice  laughed.  Then,  "Byron — -?'*  she 
doubted,  with  a  look, 

The  Cardinal  waved  his  hand  —  a  gesture 
of  amiable  concession. 

"  Oh,  if  you  prefer,  Shakespeare.  Every 
thing  in  English  is  one  or  the  other.  We  will 
not  fall  out,  like  the  Morellists,  over  an  attri 
bution.  The  point  is  that  I  should  be  a  good 
judge  of  hats.'* 

He  took  snuff. 

**  It  *s  a  shame  you  have  n't  a  decent  snuff- 
123 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

box,"  Beatrice  observed,  with  an  eye  on  the 
enamelled  wooden  one,  cheap  and  shabby, 
from  which  he  helped  himself. 

"  The  box  is  but  the  guinea-stamp ;  the 
snuff's  the  thing.  —  Was  it  Shakespeare  or 
Byron  who  said  that  ?  "  enquired  the  Cardinal. 

Beatrice  laughed  again. 

"  I  think  it  must  have  been  Pulcinella. 
I  '11  give  you  a  lovely  silver  one,  if  you  '11 
accept  it." 

"  Will  you  ?  Really  ? "  asked  the  Cardinal, 
alert. 

"Of  course  I  will.  It's  a  shame  you 
have  n't  one  already." 

"What  would  a  lovely  silver  one  cost?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  It  does  n't  matter," 
answered  she. 

"  But  approximately  ?  More  or  less  ?  "  he 
pursued. 

"Oh,  a  couple  of  hundred  lire,  more  or 
less,  I  daresay." 

"  A  couple  of  hundred  lire  ?  "  He  glanced 
up,  alerter.  "  Do  you  happen  to  have  that 
amount  of  money  on  your  person  ? " 

Beatrice  (the   unwary  woman)  hunted    for 

1*4 


The  Cardinal's  SnufF-Box 

her  pocket — took  out  her  purse — computed 
its  contents. 

C£  Yes,"  she  innocently  answered. 

The  Cardinal  chuckled  —  the  satisfied 
chuckle  of  one  whose  unsuspected  tactics 
have  succeeded. 

"Then  give  me  the  couple  of  hundred  lire." 

He  put  forth  his  hand. 

But  Beatrice  held  back, 

"What  for?  "  she  asked,  suspicion  waking. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  have  uses  for  it." 

His  outstretched  hand  —  a  slim  old  taper 
ing,  bony  hand,  in  colour  like  dusky  ivory  — 
closed  peremptorily,  in  a  dumb-show  of  receiv 
ing  ;  and  now,  by  the  bye,  you  could  not  have 
failed  to  notice  the  big  lucent  amethyst,  in  its 
setting  of  elaborately-wrought  pale  gold,  on 
the  third  finger. 

"  Come  !    Give  !  "  he  insisted,  imperative. 

Rueful  but  resigned,  Beatrice  shook  her 
head. 

"  You  have  caught  me  finely,"  she  sighed, 
and  gave. 

"  You  should  n't  have  jingled  your  purse — > 
you  should  n't  have  flaunted  your  wealth  in  my 
face,"  iattghed  the  Cardinal,  putting  away  the 
125 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

notes.      He   took   snuff  again.     "  I   think  1 
honestly  earned  that  pinch,"  he  murmured. 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Beatrice,  laying  what 
unction  she  could  to  her  soul,  "  I  am  ac 
quainted  with  a  dignitary  of  the  Church,  who 
has  lost  a  handsome  silver  snuff-box  —  beauti 
ful  repousse  work,  with  his  arms  engraved  on 
the  lid." 

«  And  I,"  retaliated  he,  "  I  am  acquainted 
with  a  broken-down  old  doctor  and  his  wife,  in 
Trastevere,  who  shall  have  meat  and  wine  at 
dinner  for  the  next  two  months — at  the  ex 
pense  of  a  niece  of  mine.  *  I  am  so  glad,^  as 
Alice  of  Wonderland  says, 'that  you  married 
into  our  family.' ' 

"  Alice     of    Wonderland  —  ?  "     doubted 

Beatrice. 

The  Cardinal  waved  his  hand. 

c<  Oh,  if  you  prefer,  Punch.  Everything  in 
English  is  one  or  the  other." 

Beatrice  laughed.  "  It  was  the  c  of  which 
especially  surprised  my  English  ear,"  she 

explained. 

"  I  am  your  debtor  for  two  hundred  lire, 
cannot  quarrel  with  you  over  a  particle,"  said 
he 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  But  why,"  asked  she,  "  why  did  you  give 
yourself  such  superfluous  pains  ?  Why 
could  n't  you  ask  me  for  the  money  point- 
blank?  Why  lure  it  from  me,  by  trick  and 
device?" 

The  Cardinal  chuckled. 

"  Ah,  one  must  keep  one's  hand  in.  And 
one  must  not  look  like  a  Jesuit  for  nothing." 

"  Do  you  look  like  a  Jesuit  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  told  so." 

"  By  whom  —  for  mercy's  sake  ?  " 

t€  By  a  gentleman  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meet 
ing  not  long  ago  in  the  train  —  a  very  gorgeous 
gentleman,  with  gold  chains  and  diamonds 
flashing  from  every  corner  of  his  person,  and  a 
splendid  waxed  moustache,  and  a  bald  head 
which,  I  think,  was  made  of  polished  pink 
coral.  He  turned  to  me  in  the  most  affable 
manner,  and  said,  c  I  see,  Reverend  Sir,  that 
you  are  a  Jesuit.  There  should  be  a  fellow- 
feeling  between  you  and  me.  I  am  a  Jew. 
Jews  and  Jesuits  have  an  almost  equally  bad 
name ! '  " 

The  Cardinal's  humorous  grey  eyes  swam  in 
a  glow  of  delighted  merriment. 

"  I  could  have  hugged  him  for  his  *  almost/ 
127 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

I  have  been  wondering  ever  since  whether  in 
his  mind  it  was  the  Jews  or  the  Jesuits  who 
benefited  by  that  reservation.  I  have  been 
wondering  also  what  I  ought  to  have  replied." 

"  What  did  you  reply  ?  "  asked  Beatrice, 
curious. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "  With  senti 
ments  of  the  highest  consideration,  I  must 
respectfully  decline  to  tell  you.  It  was  too 
flat.  I  am  humiliated  whenever  I  recall  it." 

"  You  might  have  replied  that  the  Jews,  at 
least,  have  the  advantage  of  meriting  their  bad 
name,"  she  suggested. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  child  !  "  objected  he.  "  My 
reply  was  flat  —  you  would  have  had  it  sharp. 
I  should  have  hurt  the  poor  well-meaning 
man's  feelings,  and  perhaps  have  burdened  my 
own  soul  with  a  falsehood,  into  the  bargain. 
Who  are  we,  to  judge  whether  people  merit 
their  bad  name  or  not  ?  No,  no.  The 
humiliating  circumstance  is,  that  if  I  had 
possessed  the  substance  as  well  as  the  show, 
if  I  had  really  been  a  son  of  St.  Ignatius,  I 
should  have  found  a  retort  that  would  have 
effected  the  Jew's  conversion." 

"And  apropos  of  conversions,"  said  Bea- 
128 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

trice,  "see  how  far  we  have  strayed  from  our 
muttons." 

"  Our  muttons  —  ? "  The  Cardinal  looked 
up,  enquiring. 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  think  —  not  of 
my  hat  —  but  of  my  man." 

"Oh  —  ah,  yes;  your  Englishman,  your 
tenant."  The  Cardinal  nodded. 

"  My  Englishman  —  my  tenant  —  my  here 
tic,"  said  she. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  pondering,  while  the  pa 
rentheses  became  marked  again,  "  I  should 
think,  from  what  you  tell  me,  that  you  would 
find  him  a  useful  neighbour.  Let  me  see  .  .  . 
You  got  fifty  lire  out  of  him,  for  a  word  ;  and 
the  children  went  off,  blessing  you  as  their 
benefactress.  I  should  think  that  you  would 
find  him  a  valuable  neighbour  —  and  that  he, 
on  his  side,  might  find  you  an  expensive 
one." 

Beatrice,  ,vith  a  gesture,  implored  him  to  be 
serious. 

"  Ah,  please  don't  tease  about  this,"  she 
said.  "  I  want  to  know  what  you  think  of  his 
conversion  ? " 

"  The  conversion  of  a  heretic  is  always  '  a 
9  129 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

consummation  devoutly  to  be  desired/  as  — 
well,  you  may  settle  it  between  Shakespeare 
and  Byron,  to  suit  yourself.  And  there  are 
none  so  devoutly  desirous  of  such  consumma 
tions  as  you  Catholics  of  England  —  especially 
you  women.  It  is  said  that  a  Catholic  Eng 
lishwoman  once  tried  to  convert  the  Pope/* 

"  Well,  there  have  been  popes  whom  it 
would  n't  have  hurt,"  commented  Beatrice. 
"And  as  for  Mr.  Marchdale,"  she  continued, 
"  he  has  shown  c  dispositions/  He  admitted 
that  he  could  see  no  reason  why  it  should  not 
have  been  Our  Blessed  Lady  who  sent  us  to 
the  children's  aid.  Surely,  from  a  Protestant, 
that  is  an  extraordinary  admission  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "And  if  he 
meant  it,  one  may  conclude  that  he  has  a 
philosophic  mind." 

"  If  he  meant  it  ? "  Beatrice  cried.  "  Why 
should  he  not  have  meant  it  ?  Why  should 
he  have  said  it  if  he  did  not  mean  it  ?  " 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  protested  the  Cardinal. 
"  There  is  a  thing  the  French  call  politesse.  I 
can  conceive  a  young  man  professing  to  agree 
with  a  lady  for  the  sake  of  what  the  French 
might  call  her  beaux  yeux." 
139 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  said  Beatrice,  "  that 
my  beaux  yeux  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
case.  He  said  it  in  the  most  absolute  good 
faith.  He  said  he  believed  that  in  a  universe 
like  ours  nothing  was  impossible  —  that  there 
were  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than 
people  generally  dreamed  of —  that  he  could  see 
no  reason  why  the  Blessed  Virgin  should  not 
have  sent  us  across  the  children's  path.  Oh,  he 
meant  it.  I  am  perfectly  sure  he  meant  it." 

The  Cardinal  smiled  —  at  her  eagerness, 
perhaps. 

"  Well,  then,9'  he  repeated,  "  we  must  con 
clude  that  he  has  a  philosophic  mind." 

u  But  what  is  one  to  do  ? "  asked  she. 
"  Surely  one  ought  to  do  something  ?  One 
ought  to  follow  such  an  admission  up  ?  When 
a  man  is  so  far  on  the  way  to  the  light,  it  is 
surely  one's  duty  to  lead  him  farther?  " 

"  Without  doubt,"  said  the  Cardinal, 

«  Well  —  ?     What  can  one  do  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  looked  grave. 

"  One  can  pray,"  he  said. 

"  Emilia  and  I  pray  for  his  conversion  night 
and  morning." 

"  That  is  good,"  he  approved 
131 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  But  that  is  surely  not  enough  ? yi 

"  One  can  have  Masses  said." 

"  Monsignor  Langshawe,  at  the  castle,  says 
a  Mass  for  him  twice  a  week/' 

"  That  is  good,"  approved  the  Cardinal. 

"  But  is  that  enough  ?  " 

"  Why  does  n't  Monsignor  Langshawe  call 
upon  him  —  cultivate  his  acquaintance  —  talk 
with  him  —  set  him  thinking  ?  "  the  Cardinal 
enquired. 

"Oh,  Monsignor  Langshawe!"  Beatrice 
sighed,  with  a  gesture.  "  He  is  interested  in 
nothing  but  geology  —  he  would  talk  to  him  of 
nothing  but  moraines  —  he  would  set  him  think 
ing  of  nothing  but  the  march  of  glaciers." 

"  Hum,"  said  the  Cardinal. 

"  Well,  then  —  ? "  questioned  Beatrice. 

"Well,  then,  Carissima,  why  do  you  not 
take  the  affair  in  hand  yourself? " 

"  But  that  is  just  the  difficulty.  What  can  I  — 
what  can  a  mere  woman  —  do  in  such  a  case  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  looked  into  his  amethyst,  as  a 
crystal-gazer  into  his  crystal ;  and  the  lines 
about  his  humorous  old  mouth  deepened  and 
quivered. 

"  I  will  lend  you  the  works  of  Bellarmine  — 
132 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

in  I  forget  how  many  volumes.  You  can 
prime  yourself  with  them,  and  then  invite 
your  heretic  to  a  course  of  instructions." 

"Oh,  I  wish  you  would  n't  turn  it  to  a 
joke,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  Bellarmine  —  a  joke !  "  exclaimed  the 
Cardinal.  "  It  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever 
heard  him  called  so.  However,  I  will  not 
press  the  suggestion." 

"  But  then  —  ?  Oh,  please  advise  me  seri 
ously.  What  can  I  do?  What  can  a  mere 
unlearned  woman  do  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  took  snuff.  He  gazed  into 
his  amethyst  again,  beaming  at  it,  as  if  he 
could  descry  something  deliciously  comical  in 
its  depths,  He  gave  a  soft  little  laugh.  At 
last  he  looked  up. 

"Well,"  he  responded  slowly,  "in  an  ex 
tremity,  I  should  think  that  a  mere  unlearned 
woman  might,  if  she  made  an  effort,  ask  the 
heretic  to  dinner.  I  '11  come  down  and  stay 
with  you  for  a  day  or  two,  and  you  can  ask 
him  to  dinner." 

"  You  're  a  perfect  old  darling,"  cried  Bea 
trice,  with  rapture.  "  He  '11  never  be  able  to 
resist  you!* 

133 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

<c  Oh,  I  *m  not  undertaking  to  discuss  the- 
ology  with  him,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "But  — 
one  must  do  something  in  exchange  for  a 
couple  of  hundred  lire  —  so  I'll  come  and 
give  you  my  moral  support." 

"  You  shall  have  your  lovely  silver  snuff 
box,  all  the  same,"  said  she. 

Mark  the  predestination ! 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XVI 


"  CASTEL  VENTIROSE, 
ff  August  2 1  st. 


"  DEAR  MR.  MARCH  DALE  :  It  will  give  me 
great  pleasure  if  you  can  dine  with  us  on 
Thursday  evening  next,  at  eight  o'clock,  to 
meet  my  uncle.  Cardinal  Udeschini,  who  is 
staying  here  for  a  few  days. 

"  I  have  been  re-reading  c  A  Man  of  Words.' 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  a  great  deal  more  about 
your  friend,  the  author. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  BEATRICE  DI  SANTANGIOLO," 

It  is  astonishing,  what  men  will  prize,  what 
men  will  treasure.  Peter  Marchdale,  for  ex 
ample,  prizes,  treasures,  (and  imagines  that  he 
will  always  prize  and  treasure),  the  perfectly 
conventional,  the  perfectly  commonplace  little 
document,  of  which  the  foregoing  is  a  copy. 

The  original  is  written  in  rather  a  small, 
concentrated  hand,  not  overwhelmingly  legible 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

perhaps,  but,  as  we  say,  "  full  of  character,"  on 
paper  lightly  blueish,  in  the  prescribed  corner 
of  which  a  tiny  ducal  coronet  is  embossed, 
above  the  initials  "  B.  S."  curiously  interlaced 
in  a  cypher. 

When  Peter  received  it,  and  (need  I  men 
tion?)  approached  it  to  his  face,  he  fancied  he 
could  detect  just  a  trace,  just  the  faintest  re 
minder,  of  a  perfume  —  something  like  an 
afterthought  of  orris.  It  was  by  no  means 
anodyne.  It  was  a  breath,  a  whisper,  vague, 
elusive,  hinting  of  things  exquisite,  intimate  — 
of  things  intimately  feminine,  exquisitely  per 
sonal.  I  don't  know  how  many  times  he  re 
peated  that  manoeuvre  of  conveying  the  letter 
to  his  face  ;  but  I  do  know  that  when  I  was 
privileged  to  inspect  it,  a  few  months  later,  the 
only  perfume  it  retained  was  an  unmistakable 
perfume  of  tobacco. 

I  don't  know,  either,  how  many  times  he 
read  it,  searched  it,  as  if  secrets  might  lie  perdu 
between  the  lines,  as  if  his  gaze  could  warm 
into  evidence  some  sympathetic  ink,  or  compel 
a  cryptic  sub-intention  from  the  text  itself. 

Well,  to  be  sure,  the.  text  had  cryptic  sub- 
intentions;  but  these  were  as  &r  as  may  be 
136 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

from  any  that  Peter  was  in  a  position  to  con 
jecture.  How  could  he  guess,  for  instance, 
that  the  letter  was  an  instrument,  and  he 
the  victim,  of  a  Popish  machination?  How 
could  he  guess  that  its  writer  knew  as  well 
as  he  did  who  was  the  author  of  "  A  Man 
of  Words  "  ? 

And  then,  all  at  once,  a  shade  of  trouble  of 
quite  another  nature  fell  upon  his  mind.  He 
frowned  for  a  while  in  silent  perplexity.  At 
last  he  addressed  himself  to  Marietta. 

"  Have  you  ever  dined  with  a  cardinal  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"No,  Signorino, "  that  patient  sufferer 
replied. 

"  Well,  I  'm  in  the  very  dickens  of  a  quan 
dary  —  son9  prof  no  nel  dickens  dy  un  imbarazzo" 
he  informed  her. 

"  Dickens  —  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"«S* —  Dickens,  Carlo>  celebre  autore  inglese. 
Why  not?"  he  asked. 

Marietta  gazed  with  long-suffering  eyes  at 
the  horizon. 

"  Or,  to  put  it  differently,"  Peter  resumed, 
"  I  Ve  come  all  the  way  from  London  with 
nothing  better  than  a  dinner-jacket  in  my  kit." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Dlna  giacca  ?  Cosa  e  ?  "  questioned  Mari 
etta. 

"  No  matter  what  it  is  —  the  important  thing 
is  what  it  is  n't.  It  is  n't  a  dress-coat." 

"  Non  e  un  abito  nero"  said  Marietta,  seeing 
that  he  expected  her  to  say  something. 

"Well — ?  You  perceive  my  difficulty. 
Do  you  think  you  could  make  me  one  ?  "  said 
Peter. 

"  Make  the  Signorino  a  dress-coat  ?  I  ?  Oh, 
no,  Signorino."  Marietta  shook  her  head. 

"  1  feared  as  much,"  he  acknowledged.  "  Is 
there  a  decent  tailor  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  No,  Signorino." 

"  Nor  in  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  this 
peninsula,  if  you  come  to  that.  Well,  what  am 
I  to  do  ?  How  am  I  to  dine  with  a  cardinal  ? 
Do  you  think  a  cardinal  would  have  a  fit  if  a 
man  were  to  dine  with  him  in  a  dina  giacca?  " 

"  Have  a  fit?  Why  should  he  have  a  fit, 
Signorino  ?  "  Marietta  blinked. 

"  Would  he  do  anything  to  the  man  ?  Would 
he  launch  the  awful  curses  of  the  Church  at  him, 
for  instance  ?  " 

"  MaM,  Signorino  !  "    She  struck    an    atti 
tude  that  put  to  scorn  his  apprehensions. 
'3* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  I  see,"  said  Peter.  "  You  think  there  is 
no  danger  ?  You  advise  me  to  brazen  the  dlna 
giacca  out,  to  swagger  it  off? " 

"  I  don't  understand,  Signorino/'  said  Mari 
etta. 

"To  understand  is  to  forgive/'  said  he; 
"  and  yet  you  can't  trifle  with  English  ser 
vants  like  this,  though  they  ought  to  under 
stand,  oughtn't  they?  In  any  case,  I'll  be 
guided  by  your  judgment.  I  '11  wear  my 
dina  giacca,,  but  I  '11  wear  it  with  an  air !  I  '11 
confer  upon  it  the  dignity  of  a  court-suit. 
Is  that  a  gardener  —  that  person  working 
over  there  ? " 

Marietta  looked  in  the  quarter  indicated  by 
Peter's  nod. 

"  Yes,  Signorino  ;  he  is  the  same  gardener 
who  works  here  three  days  every  week,"  she 
answered. 

"  Is  he,  really  ?  He  looks  like  a  pirate," 
Peter  murmured. 

"  Like  a  pirate  ?     Luigi  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  affirmed  her  master.  "  He  wears 
green  corduroy  trousers,  and  a  red  belt,  and  a 
blue  shirt.  That  is  the  pirate  uniform.  He 
has  a  swarthy  skin,  and  a  piercing  eye,  and 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

hair  as  black  as  the  Jolly  Roger.  Those  are 
the  marks  by  which  you  recognise  a  pirate, 
even  when  in  mufti.  I  believe  you  said  his 
name  is  Luigi  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Signorino  —  Luigi  Maroni.  We  call 
him  Gigi." 

"Is  Gigi  versatile  ?  "  asked  Peter. 

"Versatile  —  ?  "  puzzled  Marietta.  But 
then,  risking  her  own  interpretation  of  the 
recondite  word,  "  Oh,  no,  Signorino.  He  is 
of  the  country." 

"  Ah,  he 's  of  the  country,  is  he  ?  So  much 
the  better.  Then  he  will  know  the  way  to 
Castel  Ventirose  ?  " 

"But  naturally,  Signorino."  Marietta  nod 
ded. 

"  And  do  you  think,  for  once  in  a  way, 
though  not  versatile,  he  could  be  prevailed 
upon  to  divert  his  faculties  from  the  work  of 
a  gardener  to  that  of  a  messenger  P  " 

"A  messenger,  Signorino  ?  "  Marietta  wrin 
kled  up  her  brow. 

"  Ang — an  unofficial  postman.  Do  you 
think  he  could  be  induced  to  carry  a  letter  for 
me  to  the  castle  ? " 

"  But    certainly,    Signorino.      He    is    here 
140 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

to  obey  the  Signorino's  orders."  Marietta 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  waved  her  hands. 

"  Then  tell  him,  please,  to  go  and  put  the 
necessary  touches  to  his  toilet/'  said  Peter. 
"Meanwhile  I'll  indite  the  letter." 

When  his  letter  was  indited,  he  found  the 
piratical-looking  Gigi  in  attendance,  and  he 
gave  it  to  him,  with  instructions. 

Thereupon  Gigi  (with  a  smile  of  sympa 
thetic  intelligence,  inimitably  Italian)  put  the 
letter  in  his  hat,  put  his  hat  upon  his  head, 
and  started  briskly  off—  but  not  in  the  pro 
per  direction:  not  in  the  direction  of  the 
road,  which  led  to  the  village,  and  across 
the  bridge,  and  then  round  upon  itself  to 
the  gates  of  the  park.  He  started  briskly 
off  towards  Peter's  own  tool-house,  a  low  red- 
tiled  pavilion,  opposite  the  door  of  Marietta's 
kitchen. 

Peter  was  on  the  point  of  calling  to  him,  of 
remonstrating.  Then  he  thought  better  of  it 
He  would  wait  a  bit,  and  watch. 

He  waited  and  watched;  and  this  was  what 
he  saw. 

Gigi  entered  the  tool-house,  and  presently 
brought  out  a  ladder,  which  he  carried  down 
141 


The  Cardinal's  SnufF-Box 

to  the  riverside,  and  left  there.  Then  he 
returned  to  the  tool-house,  and  came  back 
bearing  an  armful  of  planks,  each  perhaps  a 
foot  wide  by  five  or  six  feet  long.  Now  he 
raised  his  ladder  to  the  perpendicular,  and  let 
it  descend  before  him,  so  that,  one  extremity 
resting  upon  the  nearer  bank,  one  attained 
the  further,  and  it  spanned  the  flood.  Finally 
he  laid  a  plank  lengthwise  upon  the  hither- 
most  rungs,  and  advanced  to  the  end  of  it; 
then  another  plank ;  then  a  third :  and  he 
stood  in  the  grounds  of  Ventirose. 

He  had  improvised  a  bridge  —  a  bridge 
that  swayed  upwards  and  downwards  more 
or  less  dizzily  about  the  middle,  if  you  will 
—  but  an  entirely  practicable  bridge,  for  all 
that.  And  he  had  saved  himself  at  least  a 
good  three  miles,  to  the  castle  and  back,  by 
the  road. 

Peter  watched,  and  admired. 

"  And  I  asked  whether  he  was  versatile !  " 
he  muttered.  "  Trust  an  Italian  for  econo 
mising  labour.  It  looks  like  unwarrantable 
invasion  of  friendly  territory  - —  but  it 's  a 
dodge  worth  remembering,  all  the  same." 

He  drew  the  Duchessa's  letter  from  his 
142 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

pocket,  and  read  it  again,  and  again  ap 
proached  it  to  his  face,  communing  with  that 
ghost  of  a  perfume. 

"Heavens!  how  it  makes  one  think  of 
chiffons,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Thursday  —  Thurs 
day  —  help  me  to  live  till  Thursday  !  " 


'43 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XVII 

BUT  he  hadn't  to  live  till  Thursday  — he  was 
destined  to  see  her  not  later  than  the  next 
afternoon. 

You  know  with  what  abruptness,  with  how 
brief  a  warning,  storms  mil  spring  from  the 
blue,  in  that  land  of  lakes  and  mountains. 

It  was  three  o'clock  or  thereabouts ;  and 
Peter  was  reading  in  his  garden ;  and  the 
whole  world  lay  basking  in  unmitigated  sun 
shine. 

Then,  all  at  once,  somehow,  you  felt  a 
change  in  things :  the  sunshine  seemed  less 
brilliant,  the  shadows  less  solid,  less  sharply 
outlined.  Oh,  it  was  very  slight,  very  un 
certain  ;  you  had  to  look  twice  to  assure  your 
self  that  it  was  n't  a  mere  fancy.  It  seemed 
as  if  never  so  thin  a  gauze  had  been  drawn 
over  the  face  of  the  sun,  just  faintly  bedim- 
ming,  without  obscuring  it.  You  could  have 
ransacked  the  sky  in  vain  to  discover  the 
smallest  shred  of  cloud, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

At  the  same  time,  the  air,  which  had  been 
hot  all  day  —  hot,  but  buoyant,  but  stimulant, 
but  quick  with  oxygen  -  —  seemed  to  become 
thick,  sluggish,  suffocating,  seemed  to  yield 
up  its  vital  principle,  and  to  fall  a  dead  weight 
upon  the  earth.  And  this  effect  was  accom 
panied  by  a  sudden  silence  —  the  usual  busy 
out-of-door  country  noises  v/ere  suddenly 
suspended  :  the  locusts  stopped  their  singing  ; 
not  a  bird  twittered;  not  a  leaf  rustled:  the 
world  held  its  breath.  And  if  the  river  went 
on  babbling,  babbling,  that  was  a  very  part 
of  the  silence  —  accented,  underscored  it. 

Yet  still  you  could  not  discern  a  rack 
of  cloud  anywhere  in  the  sky  —  still,  for  a 
minute  or  two.  .  .  .  Then,  before  you  knew 
how  it  had  happened,  the  snow-summits  of 
Monte  Sfiorito  were  completely  lapped  in 
cloud. 

And  now  the  cloud  spread  with  astonishing 
rapidity  —  spread  and  sank,  cancelling  the  sun, 
shrouding  the  Gnisi  to  its  waist,  curling  in 
smoky  wreaths  among  the  battlements  of  the 
Cornobastone,  turning  the  lake  from  sapphire 
to  sombre  steel,  filling  the  entire  valley  with 
a  strange  mixture  of  darkness  and  an  uncanny 


10 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

pallid  light.  Overhead  it  hung  like  a  vast 
canopy  of  leaden-hued  cotton-wool  ;  at  the 
west  it  had  a  fringe  of  fiery  crimson,  beyond 
which  a  strip  of  clear  sky  on  the  horizon  dif 
fused  a  dull  metallic  yellow,  like  tarnished 
brass. 

Presently,  in  the  distance,  there  was  a  low 
growl  of  thunder;  in  a  minute,  a  louder, 
angrier  growl  —  as  if  the  first  were  a  menace 
which  had  not  been  heeded.  Then  there  was 
a  violent  gush  of  wind  —  cold ;  smelling  of 
the  forests  from  which  it  came ;  scattering 
everything  before  it,  dust,  dead  leaves,  the 
fallen  petals  of  flowers ;  making  the  trees 
writhe  and  labour,  like  giants  wrestling  with 
invisible  giants ;  making  the  short  grass 
shudder ;  corrugating  the  steel  surface  of  the 
lake.  Then  two  or  three  big  rain-drops  fell 
—  and  then,  the  deluge. 

Peter  climbed  up  to  his  observatory  —  a 
square  four-windowed  turret,  at  the  top  of  the 
house  —  thence  to  watch  the  storm  and  exult 
in  it.  Really  it  was  splendid  — to  see,  to 
hear;  its  immense  wild  force,  its  immense 
reckless  fury.  Rain  had  never  rained  so  hard, 
he  thought.  Already,  the  lake,  the  mountain- 
146 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

slopes,  the  villas  and  vineyards  westward,  were 
totally  blotted  out,  hidden  behind  walls  and 
walls  of  water ;  and  even  the  neighbouring 
lawns  of  Ventirose,  the  confines  of  his  own 
garden,  were  barely  distinguishable,  blurred 
as  by  a  fog.  The  big  drops  pelted  the  river 
like  bullets,  sending  up  splashes  bigger  than 
themselves.  And  the  tiled  roof  just  above 
his  head  resounded  with  a  continual  loud  crepi 
tation,  as  if  a  multitude  of  iron-shod  elves 
were  dancing  on  it.  The  thunder  crashed, 
roared,  reverberated,  like  the  toppling  of  great 
edifices.  The  lightning  tare  through  the  black 
cloud-canopy  in  long  blinding  zig-zags.  The 
wind  moaned,  howled,  hooted  —  and  the  square 
chamber  where  Peter  stood  shook  and  rattled 
under  its  bufferings,  and  was  full  of  the  chill 
and  the  smell  of  it.  Really  the  whole  thing 
was  splendid. 

His  garden-paths  ran  with  muddy  brooklets; 
the  high-road  beyond  his  hedge  was  trans 
formed  to  a  shallow  torrent.  .  .  .  And,  just 
at  that  moment,  looking  off  along  the  high 
road,  he  saw  something  that  brought  his  heart 
into  his  throat. 

Three  figures  were  hurrying  down  it,  half 
H7 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

drowned  in  the  rain  —  the  Duchessa   di   Sant« 
angioio,  Emilia  Manfredi,  and  a  priest. 

In  a  twinkling,  Peter,  bareheaded,  was  at 
his  gate. 

u  Come  in  —  come  in,"  he  called. 

"  We  are  simply  drenched  —  we  shall  inun 
date  your  house,"  the  Duchessa  said,  as  he 
showed  them  into  his  sitting-room. 

They  were  indeed  dripping  with  water, 
soiled  to  their  knees  with  mud. 

"  Good  heavens  ! "  gasped  Peter,  stupid. 
"  How  were  you  ever  out  in  such  a  down 
pour  ? " 

She  smiled,  rather  forlornly. 

"  No  one  told  us  that  it  was  going  to 
rain,  and  we  were  off  for  a  good  long  walk 
—  for  pleasure." 

"  You  must  be  wet  to  the  bone  —  you  must 
be  perishing  with  cold,"  he  cried,  looking  from 
one  to  another. 

"  Yes,  I  daresay  we  are  perishing  with  cold," 
she  admitted. 

"  And  I  have  no  means  of  offering  you  a 
fire  —  there  are    no    fireplaces,"    he    groaned, 
with  a  gesture  round  the  bleak  Italian  room, 
to  certify  their  absence. 
14* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Isn't  there  a  kitchen?"  asked  the 
Duchessa,  a  faint  spark  of  raillery  kindling 
amid  the  forlornness  of  her  smile. 

Peter  threw  up  his  hands. 

"I  had  lost  my  head.  The  kitchen,  of 
course.  I  '11  tell  Marietta  to  light  a  fire." 

He  excused  himself,  and  sought  out  Mari 
etta.  He  found  her  in  her  housekeeper's 
room,  on  her  knees,  saying  her  rosary,  in 
obvious  terror.  I  'm  afraid  he  interrupted  her 
orisons  somewhat  brusquely. 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  start  a  rousing 
fire  in  the  kitchen  —  as  quickly  as  ever  it  can 
be  done?  " 

And  he  rejoined  his  guests. 

"  If  you  will  come  this  way  —  "  he  said. 

Marietta  had  a  fire  of  logs  and  pine-cones 
blazing  in  no  time.  She  courtesied  low  to  the 
Duchessa,  lower  still  to  the  priest  —  in  fact, 
Peter  was  n't  sure  that  she  did  n't  genuflect 
before  him,  while  he  made  a  rapid  movement 
with  his  hand  over  her  head:  the  Sign  of  the 
Cross,  perhaps. 

He  was  a  little,  unassuming-looking,  white  - 
haired  priest,  with  a  remarkably  clever,  humor 
ous,  kindly   face ;  and  he  wore  a  remarkably 
149 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

shabby  cassock.  The  Duchessa's  chaplain, 
Peter  supposed.  How  should  it  occur  to  him 
that  this  was  Cardinal  Udeschini  ?  Do  Cardi 
nals  (in  one's  antecedent  notion  of  them)  wear 
shabby  cassocks,  and  look  humorous  and  un 
assuming?  Do  they  go  tramping  about  the 
country  in  the  rain,  attended  by  no  retinue 
save  a  woman  and  a  fourteen-year-old  girl? 
And  are  they  little  men  — in  one's  antecedent 
notion  ?  True,  his  shabby  cassock  had  red 
buttons,  and  there  was  a  red  sash  round  his 
waist,  and  a  big  amethyst  glittered  in  a  setting 
of  pale  gold  on  his  annular  finger.  But  Peter 
was  not  sufficiently  versed  in  fashions  canonical, 
to  recognise  the  meaning  of  these  insignia. 

How,  on  the  other  hand,  should  it  occur 
to  the  Duchessa  that  Peter  needed  enlighten 
ment  ?  At  all  events,  she  said  to  him,  "  Let 
me  introduce  you ;  "  and  then,  to  the  priest, 
"Let  me  present  Mr.  Marchdale  —  of  whom 
you  have  heard  before  now." 

The  white-haired  old  man  smiled  sweetly 
into  Peter's  eyes,  and  gave  him  a  slender, 
sensitive  old  hand. 

"  E  cattivo  vento  che  non  e  buono  per  qualcuno 
•*—  debbo  a  quest  a  burrasca  la  pregustazione  <T  un 
150 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

piacere"  he  said,  with  a  mingling  of  ceremoni 
ous  politeness  and  sunny  geniality  that  was  of 
his  age  and  race. 

Peter  —  instinctively  —  he  could  not  have 
told  why  —  put  a  good  deal  more  deference 
into  his  bow,  than  men  of  his  age  and  race 
commonly  put  into  their  bows,  and  murmured 
something  about  "grand*  onore" 

Marietta  placed  a  row  of  chairs  before  the 
raised  stone  hearth,  and  afterwards,  at  her  mas 
ter's  request,  busied  herself  preparing  tea. 

"  But  I  think  you  would  all  be  wise  to  take 
a  little  brandy  first,"  Peter  suggested.  "  It  is 
my  despair  that  I  am  not  able  to  provide  you 
with  a  change  of  raiment.  Brandy  will  be  the 
best  substitute,  perhaps." 

The  old  priest  laughed,  and  put  his  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  Emilia. 

"  You  have  spared  this  young  lady  an  em 
barrassing  avowal.  Brandy  is  exactly  what  she 
was  screwing  her  courage  to  the  point  of  asking 
for." 

u  Oh,  no ! "  protested  Emilia,  in  a  deep 
Italian  voice,  with  passionate  seriousness. 

But  Peter  fetched  a  decanter,  and  poured 
brandy  for  everyone. 

151 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  I  drink  to  your  health  —  cest  bien  le  cat 
de  le  dire.  I  hope  you  will  not  have  caught 
your  deaths  of  cold/'  he  said. 

"  Oh,  we  are  quite  warm  now,"  said  the 
Duchessa.  "  We  are  snug  in  an  ingle  on 
Mount  Ararat." 

"  Our  wetting  will  have  done  us  good  —  it 
will  make  us  grow.  You  and  I  will  never 
regret  that,  will  we,  Emilietta  ?  "  said  the 
priest. 

A  lively  colour  had  come  into  the 
Duchessa' s  cheeks;  her  eyes  seemed  un 
usually  bright.  Her  hair  was  in  some  dis 
order,  drooping  at  the  sides,  and  blown  over 
her  brow  in  fine  free  wavelets.  It  was  dark 
in  the  kitchen,  save  for  the  firelight,  which 
danced  fantastically  on  the  walls  and  ceiling, 
and  struck  a  ruddy  glow  from  Marietta's 
copper  pots  and  pans.  The  rain  pattered 
lustily  without ;  the  wind  wailed  in  the  chim 
ney ;  the  lightning  flashed,  the  thunder  vol 
leyed.  And  Peter  looked  at  the  Duchessa 
—  and  blessed  the  elements.  To  see  her 
seated  there,  in  her  wet  gown,  seated  famil 
iarly,  at  her  ease,  before  his  fire,  in  his  kitchen, 
with  that  colour  in  her  cheeks,  that  brightness 
152 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

in  her  eyes,  and  her  hair  in  that  disarray  —  it 
was  unspeakable;  his  heart  closed  in  a  kind 
of  delicious  spasm.  And  the  fragrance,  subtle, 
secret,  evasive,  that  hovered  in  the  air  near 
her,  did  not  diminish  his  emotion. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  asked,  with  a  comical  little 
glance  upwards  at  him,  "  whether  you  would 
resent  it  very  much  if  I  should  take  off  my 
hat —  because  it 's  a  perfect  reservoir,  and  the 
water  will  keep  trickling  down  my  neck." 

His  joy  needed  but  this  culmination  — 
that  she  should  take  off  her  hat ! 

"Oh,  I  beg  of  you  — "  he  returned  fer 
vently. 

"You  had  better  take  yours  off  too, 
Emilia,"  said  the  Duchessa. 

"Admire  masculine  foresight,"  said  the 
priest.  "  I  took  mine  off  when  I  came  in." 

"  Let  me  hang  them  up,"  said  Peter. 

It  was  wonderful  to  hold  her  hat  in  his 
hand  —  it  was  like  holding  a  part  of  herself. 
He  brushed  it  surreptitiously  against  his  face, 
as  he  hung  it  up.  Its  fragrance  —  which  met 
him  like  an  answering  caress,  almost  —  did  not 
lessen  his  emotion. 

Then  Marietta  brought  the  tea,  with  bread- 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

and-butter,  and  toast,  and  cakes,  and  pretty 
blue  china  cups  and  saucers,  and  silver  that 
glittered  in  the  firelight. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  honour  of  pouring 
the  tea  ? "  Peter  asked  the  Duchessa. 

So  she  poured  the  tea,  and  Peter  passed  it 
As  he  stood  close  to  her,  to  take  it  —  oh,  but 
his  heart  beat,  believe  me  !  And  once,  when 
she  was  giving  him  a  cup,  the  warm  tips  of 
her  fingers  lightly  touched  his  hand.  Believe 
me,  the  touch  had  its  effect.  And  always 
there  was  that  heady  fragrance  in  the  air,  like 
a  mysterious  little  voice,  singing  secrets. 

"  I  wonder,"  the  old  priest  said,  "  why  tea 
is  not  more  generally  drunk  by  us  Italians.  I 
never  taste  it  without  resolving  to  acquire  the 
habit.  I  remember,  when  I  was  a  child,  our 
mothers  used  to  keep  it  as  a  medicine  ;  and 
you  could  only  buy  it  at  the  chemists'  shops." 

"It's  coming  in,  you  know,  at  Rome  — 
among  the  Whites,"  said  the  Duchessa. 

"  Among  the  Whites  !  "  cried  he,  with  a 
jocular  simulation  of  disquiet.  "  You  should 
not  have  told  me  that,  till  I  had  finished  my 
cup.  Now  I  shall  feel  that  I  am  sharing  a 
dissipation  with  our  spoliators." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  That  should  give  an  edge  to  its  aroma/' 
laughed  she.  "  And  besides,  the  Whites 
are  n't  all  responsible  for  our  spoliation  — 
some  of  them  are  not  so  white  as  your  fancy 
paints  them.  They  'd  be  very  decent  people, 
for  the  most  part —  if  they  were  n't  so  vulgar." 

"If  you  stick  up  for  the  Whites  like  that 
when  I  am  Pope,  I  shall  excommunicate  you," 
the  priest  threatened.  "  Meanwhile,  what 
have  you  to  say  against  the  Blacks  ? " 

"  The  Blacks,  with  few  exceptions,  are  even 
blacker  than  they  're  painted ;  but  they  too 
would  be  fairly  decent  people  in  their  way  — 
if  they  were  n't  so  respectable.  That  is  what 
makes  Rome  impossible  as  a  residence  for  any 
one  who  cares  for  human  society.  White 
society  is  so  vulgar  —  Black  society  is  so 
deadly  dull." 

"  It  is  rather  curious,"  said  the  priest,  "  that 
the  chief  of  each  party  should  wear  the  colour 
of  his  adversary.  Our  chief  dresses  in  white, 
and  their  chief  can  be  seen  any  day  driving 
about  the  streets  in  black." 

And  Peter,  during  this  interchange  of  small- 
talk,  was  at  liberty  to  feast  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  not  yet  reached  the  time 
'55 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

of  life  where  men  begin  to  find  a  virtue  in 
snuff?"  the  priest  said,  producing  a  smart 
silver  snuff-box,  tapping  the  lid,  and  proffering 
it  to  Peter. 

"  On  the  contrary  —  thank  you,"  Peter  an 
swered,  and  absorbed  his  pinch  like  an  adept. 

"  How  on  earth  have  you  learned  to  take 
it  without  a  paroxysm  ?  "  cried  the  surprised 
Duchessa. 

"Oh,  a  thousand  years  ago  I  was  in  the 
Diplomatic  Service,"  he  explained.  "  It  is  one 
of  the  requirements." 

Emilia  Manfredi  lifted  her  big  brown  eyes, 
filled  with  girlish  wonder,  to  his  face,  and  ex 
claimed,  "  How  extraordinary  !  " 

"  It  is  n't  half  so  extraordinary  as  it  would  be 
if  it  were  true,  my  dear,"  said  the  Duchessa. 

"  Oh?  Non  e  poi  vero?  "  murmured  Emilia, 
and  her  eyes  darkened  with  disappointment. 

Peter  meanwhile  was  looking  at  the  snuff 
box,  which  the  priest  still  held  in  his  hand,  and 
admiring  its  brave  repousse  work  of  leaves 
and  flowers,  and  the  escutcheon  engraved  on 
the  lid.  But  what  if  he  could  have  guessed 
the  part  he  had  passively  played  in  obtaining 
it  for  its  possessor  —  or  the  part  that  /'/  was 
156 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

still  to  play  in  his  own  epopee?  Mark  again 
the  predestination ! 

"  The  storm  is  passing,"  said  the  priest. 

"  Worse  luck  !  "  thought  Peter. 

For  indeed  the  rain  and  the  wind  were  mod 
erating,  the  thunder  had  rolled  farther  away, 
the  sky  was  becoming  lighter. 

u  But  there  's  a  mighty  problem  before  us 
still,"  said  the  Duchessa.  "  How  are  we  to 
get  to  Ventirose?  The  roads  will  be  ankle- 
deep  with  mud." 

"  If  you  wish  to  do  me  a  very  great  kind 
ness — "  Peter  began. 

"  Yes  —  ?  "  she  encouraged  him. 

"You  will  allow  me  to  go  before  you, 
and  tell  them  to  come  for  you  with  a 
carriage." 

"I  shall  certainly  allow  you  to  do  noth 
ing  of  the  sort,"  she  replied  severely.  "I 
suppose  there  is  no  one  whom  you  could 
send?" 

"I  should  hardly  like  to  send  Marietta. 
I  'm  afraid  there  is  no  one  else.  But  upon 
my  word,  I  should  enjoy  going  myself." 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  at  him  with 
mock  compassion. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Would  you  r  Poor  man,  poor  man  !  That 
is  an  enjoyment  which  you  will  have  to  re 
nounce.  One  must  n't  expect  too  much  in  this 
sad  life." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Peter,  "  I  have  an  expe 
dient.  If  you  can  walk  a  somewhat  narrow 
plank  —  ?" 

"  Yes  —  ?  "  questioned  she. 

"  I  think  I  can  improvise  a  bridge  across  the 


river." 


"  I  believe  the  rain  has  stopped,"  said  the 
priest,  looking  towards  the  window. 

Peter,  manning  his  soul  for  the  inevitable, 
got  up,  went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  stuck  out 
his  head. 

"Yes,"  he  acknowledged,  while  his  heart 
sank  within  him,  "the  rain  has  stopped." 

And  now  the  storm  departed  almost  as  rap 
idly  as  it  had  arrived.  In  the  north  the  sky 
was  already  clear,  blue  and  hard-looking  —  a 
wall  of  lapis-lazuli.  The  dark  cloud-canopy 
was  drifting  to  the  south.  Suddenly  the  sun 
came  out,  flashing  first  from  the  snows  of 
Monte  Sfiorito,  then,  in  an  instant,  flooding 
the  entire  prospect  with  a  marvellous  yellow 
light,  ethereal  amber ;  whilst  long  streamers  o/ 
158 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

tinted  vapour  — columns  of  pearl-dust,  one 
might  have  fancied  —  rose  to  meet  it ;  and  ail 
wet  surfaces,  leaves,  lawns,  tree-trunks,  house 
tops,  the  bare  crags  of  the  Gnisi,  gleamed  in  a 
wash  of  gold. 

Puffs  of  fresh  air  blew  into  the  kitchen,  fill 
ing  it  with  the  keen  sweet  odour  of  wet  earth. 
The  priest  and  the  Duchessa  and  Emilia  joined 
Peter  at  the  open  door. 

"  Oh,  your  poor,  poor  garden ! "  the 
Duchessa  cried. 

His  garden  had  suffered  a  good  deal,  to  be 
sure.  The  flowers  lay  supine,  their  faces  beaten 
into  the  mud ;  the  greensward  was  littered  with 
fallen  leaves  and  twigs  —  and  even  in  one  or 
two  places  whole  branches  had  been  broken 
from  the  trees;  on  the  ground  about  each 
rose-bush  a  snow  of  pink  rose-petals  lay  scat 
tered  ;  in  the  paths  there  were  hundreds  of 
little  pools,  shining  in  the  sun  like  pools 
of  fire. 

"  There 's  nothing  a  gardener  can't  set 
right,"  said  Peter,  feeling  no  doubt  that  here 
was  a  trifling  tax  upon  the  delights  tne  storm 
had  procured  him. 

fc  And  oh,  our  poor,  poor  hats ! "  said  the 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Duchessa,  eyeing  ruefully  those  damaged 
pieces  of  finery.  "  I  fear  no  gardener  can 
ever  set  them  right." 

"  It  sounds  inhospitable,"  said  Peter,  "  but 
I  suppose  I  had  better  go  and  build  your 
bridge/' 

So  he  threw  a  ladder  athwart  the  river,  and 
laid  the  planks  in  place,  as  he  had  seen  Gigi 
do  the  day  before. 

"How  ingenious  —  and,  like  all  great  things, 
how  simple,"  laughed  the  Duchessa. 

Peter  waved  his  hand,  as  who  should  mod 
estly  deprecate  applause.  But,  I  'm  ashamed 
to  own,  he  did  n't  disclaim  the  credit  of  the 
invention. 

"  It  will  require  some  nerve,"  she  reflected, 
looking  at  the  narrow  planks,  the  foaming 
green  water.  "However  —  " 

And  gathering  in  her  skirts,  she  set  bravely 
forward,  and  made  the  transit  without  mishap. 
The  priest  and  Emilia,  gathering  in  their  skirts, 
made  it  after  her. 

She  paused  on  the  other  side,  and  looked 
back,  smiling. 

"  Since  you  have  discovered  so  efficacious  a 
means  of  cutting  short  the  distance  between 
1 60 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

our  places  of  abode/'  she  said,  <c  I  hope  you 
will  not  fail  to  profit  by  it  whenever  you  may 
have  occasion — on  Thursday,  for  example." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Peter. 

"  Of  course,"  she  went  on,  "  we  may  all  die 
of  our  wetting  yet.  It  would  perhaps  show  a 
neighbourly  interest  if  you  were  to  come  up 
to-morrow,  and  take  our  news.  Come  at  four 
o'clock ;  and  if  we  're  alive  .  .  .  you  shall 
have  another  pinch  of  snuff,"  she  promised, 
laughing. 

"  I  adore  you,"  said  Peter,  under  his  breath. 
"  I  '11  come  with  great  pleasure,"  he  said 
aloud. 


"  Marietta,"  he  observed,  that  evening,  as 
he  dined,  "  I  would  have  you  to  know  that 
the  Aco  is  bridged.  Hence,  there  is  one 
symbol  the  fewer  in  Lombardy.  But  why 
does  —  you  mustn't  mind  the  Ollendorfian 
form  of  my  enquiry  —  why  does  the  chaplain 
of  the  Duchessa  wear  red  stockings  :  " 

"  The  chaplain  of  the  Duchessa  —  ?  "  re 
peated  Marietta,  wrinkling  up  her  brow. 

"Ang  —  of  the  Duchessa  di  Santangiolo. 
11  161 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

He  wore  red  stockings,  and  shoes  with  silver 
buckles.  Do  you  think  that  *s  precisely  de 
corous —  don't  you  think  it's  the  least  bit 
light-minded  —  in  an  ecclesiastic  ?  " 

"He — ?     Who  —  ?"  questioned  Marietta. 

"  But  the  chaplain  of  the  Duchessa  —  when 
he  was  here  this  afternoon." 

"  The  chaplain  of  the  Duchessa! "  exclaimed 
Marietta.  "  Here  this  afternoon  ?  The  chap 
lain  of  the  Duchessa  was  not  here  this  after 
noon.  His  Eminence  the  Lord  Prince 
Cardinal  Udeschini  was  here  this  afternoon." 

"  What !  "  gasped  Peter. 

"Ang,"  said  Marietta. 

"  That  was  Cardinal  Udeschini  —  that  little 
harmless-looking,  sweet-faced  old  man  ! "  Peter 
wondered. 

"  Sicuro  —  the  uncle  of  the  Duca,"  said 
she. 

"Good  heavens!"  sighed  he.  "And  I 
allowed  myself  to  hobnob  with  him  like  a 
boon-companion.'* 

"  Gti"  said  she. 

"  You  need  n't  rub  it  in,"  said  he.     "  For 
the  matter  of  that,  you   yourself  entertained 
him  in  your  kitchen." 
162 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Scusif"  said  she. 

"  Ah,  well  —  it  was  probably  for  the  best," 
he  concluded.  cc  I  daresay  I  should  n't  have 
behaved  much  better  if  I  had  known." 

"  It  was  his  coming  which  saved  this  house 
from  being  struck  by  lightning,"  announced 
Marietta. 

«  Oh  —  ?     Was  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Peter. 

"  Yes,  Signorino.  The  lightning  would 
never  strike  a  house  that  the  Lord  Prince 
Cardinal  was  in." 

"I  see  —  it  would  n't  venture — it  would  n't 
presume.  Did  —  did  it  strike  all  the  houses 
that  the  Lord  Prince  Cardinal  was  n't  in  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  Signorino.  Ma  non  fa 
niente.  It  was  a  terrible  storm — terrible, 
terrible.  The  lightning  was  going  to  strike 
this  house,  when  the  Lord  Prince  Cardinal 
arrived." 

"  Hum,"  said  Peter.  "  Then  you,  as  well 
as  I,  have  reason  for  regarding  his  arrival  as 
providential." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XVIII 

<c  I  THINK  something  must  have  happened  to 
my  watch,"  Peter  said,  next  day. 

Indeed,  its  hands  moved  with  extraordinary, 
with  exasperating  slowness. 

"  It  seems  absurd  that  it  should  do  no  good 
to  push  them  on,"  he  thought. 

He  would  force  himself,  between  twice  as 
certaining  their  position,  to  wait  for  a  period 
that  felt  like  an  eternity,  walking  about  miser 
ably,  and  smoking  flavourless  cigarettes  ;  — then 
he  would  stand  amazed,  incredulous,  when, 
with  a  smirk  (as  it  almost  struck  him)  of  ironi 
cal  complacence,  they  would  attest  that  his 
eternity  had  lasted  something  near  a  quarter 
of  an  hour. 

"  And  I  had  professed  myself  a  Kantian,  and 
made  light  of  the  objective  reality  of  Time!  — 
thou  laggard,  Time ! "  he  cried,  and  shook  his 
fist  at  Space,  Time's  unoffending  consort. 

"  I  believe  it  will  never  be  four  o'clock 
again,"  he  said,  in  despair,  finally ;  and  once 
164 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

more  had  out  his  watch.  It  was  half-past 
three.  He  scowled  at  the  instrument's  bland 
white  face.  "  You  have  no  bowels,  no  sensi 
bilities —  nothing  but  dry  little  methodical 
jog-trot  wheels  and  pivots ! "  he  exclaimed, 
flying  to  insult  for  relief.  "  You  're  as  in 
human  as  a  French  functionary.  Do  you  call 
yourself  a  sympathetic  comrade  for  an  impatient 
man  ?  "  He  laid  it  open  on  his  rustic  table, 
and  waited  through  a  last  eternity.  At  a 
quarter  to  four  he  crossed  the  river.  "  If  I 
am  early  —  tant  pis  !  "  he  decided,  choosing 
the  lesser  of  two  evils,  and  challenging  Fate. 

He  crossed  the  river,  and  stood  for  the  first 
time  in  the  grounds  of  Ventirose  • —  stood 
where  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  standing, 
during  their  water-side  colloquies.  He  glanced 
back  at  his  house  and  garden,  envisaging  them 
for  the  first  time,  as  it  were,  from  her  point  of 
view.  They  had  a  queer  air  of  belonging  to 
an  era  that  had  passed,  to  a  yesterday  already 
remote.  They  looked,  somehow,  curiously 
small,  moreover  —  the  garden  circumscribed, 
the  two-storied  house,  with  its  striped  sun- 
blinds,  poor  and  petty.  He  turned  his  back 
upon  them  —  left  them  behind.  He  would 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

have  to  come  home  to  them  later  in  the  day, 
to  be  sure;  but  then  everything  would  be  dif 
ferent.  A  chapter  would  have  added  itself  to 
the  history  of  the  world  ;  a  great  event,  a  great 
step  forward,  would  have  definitely  taken  place. 
He  would  have  been  received  at  Ventirose  as 
a  friend.  He  would  be  no  longer  a  mere 
nodding  acquaintance,  owing  even  that  meagre 
relationship  to  the  haphazard  of  propinquity. 
The  ice  —  broken,  if  you  will,  but  still  present 
in  abundance  —  would  have  been  gently  thawed 
away.  One  era  had  passed ;  but  then  a  new 
era  would  have  begun. 

So  he  turned  his  back  upon  Villa  Floriano, 
and  set  off,  high-hearted,  up  the  wide  lawns, 
under  the  bending  trees — whither,  on  four 
red-marked  occasions,  he  had  watched  her  dis 
appear  —  towards  the  castle,  which  faced  him 
in  its  vast  irregular  picturesqueness.  There 
were  the  oldest  portions,  grimly  mediaeval,  a 
lakeside  fortress,  with  ponderous  round  towers, 
meurtrieres,  machiolations,  its  grey  stone  walls 
discoloured  in  fantastic  streaks  and  patches  by 
weather-stains  and  lichens,  or  else  shaggily 
overgrown  by  creepers.  Then  there  were 
later  portions,  rectangular,  pink-stuccoed,  with 
266 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

rusticated  work  at  the  corners,  and,  on  the 
blank  spaces  between  the  windows,  quaint 
allegorical  frescoes,  faded,  half  washed-out. 
And  then  there  were  entirely  modern-looking 
portions,  of  gleaming  marble,  with  numberless 
fanciful  carvings,  spires,  pinnacles,  reliefs  — 
wonderfully  light,  gay,  habitable,  and  (Peter 
thought)  beautiful,  in  the  clear  Italian  atmos 
phere,  against  the  blue  Italian  sky. 

"  It's  a  perfect  house  for  her"  he  said.  "It 
suits  her — like  an  appropriate  garment;  it 
almost  seems  to  express  her." 

And  all  the  while,  as  he  proceeded,  her 
voice  kept  sounding  in  his  ears;  scraps  of  her 
conversation,  phrases  that  she  had  spoken, 
kept  coming  back  to  him. 


One  end  of  the  long,  wide  marble  terrace 
had  been  arranged  as  a  sort  of  out-of-door 
living-room.  A  white  awning  was  stretched 
overhead ;  warm-hued  rugs  were  laid  on  the 
pavement;  there  were  wicker  lounging-chairs, 
with  bright  cushions,  and  a  little  table,  holding 
books  and  things. 

The  Duchessa  rose  from  one  of  the  loung- 
167 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

ing-chairs,  and  came  forward,  smiling,  to  meet 
him. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  —  for  the  first  time. 

It  was  warm.  —  electrically  warm  ;  and  it  was 
soft  —  womanly  soft;  and  it  was  firm.,  alive 
—  it  spoke  of  a  vitality,  a  temperament.  Peter 
was  sure,  besides,  that  it  would  be  sweet  to 
smell ;  and  he  longed  to  bend  over  it,  and 
press  it  with  his  lips.  He  might  almost  have 
done  so,  according  to  Italian  etiquette.  But, 
of  course,  he  simply  bowed  over  it,  and  let  it 

g°- 

"  Mi  trova  abbandonata"  she  said,  leading 

the  way  back  to  the  terrace-end.  There  were 
notes  of  a  peculiar  richness  in  her  voice,  when 
she  spoke  Italian  ;  and  she  dwelt  languorously 
on  the  vowels,  and  rather  slurred  the  conso 
nants,  lazily,  in  the  manner  Italian  women 
have,  whereby  they  give  the  quality  of  velvet  to 
their  tongue.  She  was  not  an  Italian  woman ; 
Heaven  be  praised,  she  was  English  :  so  this 
was  just  pure  gain  to  the  sum-total  of  her 
graces,  "  My  uncle  and  my  niece  have  gone 
to  the  village.  But  I  'm  expecting  them  to 
come  home  at  any  moment  now  —  and  you  '11 
not  have  long,  I  hope,  to  wait  for  your  snuff." 
168 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

She  flashed  a  whimsical  little  smile  into  his 
eyes.  Then  she  returned  to  her  wicker  chair, 
glancing  an  invitation  at  Peter  to  place  himself 
in  the  one  facing  her.  She  leaned  back,  rest 
ing  her  head  on  a  pink  silk  cushion. 

Peter,  no  doubt,  sent  up  a  silent  prayer  that 
her  uncle  and  her  niece  might  be  detained  at 
the  village  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon.  By 
her  niece  he  took  her  to  mean  Emilia:  he 
liked  her  for  the  kindly  euphemism.  "  What 
hair  she  has  !  "  he  thought,  admiring  the  loose 
brown  masses,  warm  upon  their  background  of 
pink  silk. 

"  Oh,  I  'm  inured  to  waiting,"  he  replied, 
with  a  retrospective  mind  for  the  interminable 
waits  of  that  interminable  day. 

The  Duchessa  had  taken  a  fan  from  the 
table,  and  was  playing  with  it,  opening  and 
shutting  it  slowly,  in  her  lap.  Now  she  caught 
Peter's  eyes  examining  it,  and  she  gave  it  to 
him.  (My  own  suspicion  is  that  Peter's  eyes 
had  been  occupied  rather  with  the  hands  that 
held  the  fan,  than  with  the  fan  itself — but 
that's  a  detail.) 

"  I  picked  it  up  the  other  day,  in  Rome," 
she  said.  "Of  course,  it's  an  imitation  of  the 
160 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

French  fans  of  the  last  century,  but  I  thought 
it  pretty." 

It  was  of  white  silk,  that  had  been  thinly 
stained  a  soft  yellow,  like  the  yellow  of  faded 
yellow  rose-leaves.  It  was  painted  with  innu 
merable  plump  little  cupids,  flying  among  pale 
clouds.  The  sticks  were  of  mother-of-pearl. 
The  end-sticks  were  elaborately  incised,  and  in 
the  incisions  opals  were  set,  big  ones  and  small 
ones,  smouldering  with  green  and  scarlet  fires. 

"  Very  pretty  indeed,"  said  Peter,  "  and  very 
curious.  It  's  like  a  great  butterfly's  wing  — 
is  n't  it  ?  But  are  n't  you  afraid  of  opals  ?  " 

"  Afraid  of  opals  ?  "  she  wondered.  "  Why 
should  one  be  ?  " 

"  Unless  your  birthday  happens  to  fall  in 
October,  they  're  reputed  to  bring  bad  luck," 
he  reminded  her. 

"My  birthday  happens  to  fall  in  June  — 
but  I  '11  never  believe  that  such  pretty  things 
as  opals  can  bring  bad  luck,"  she  laughed,  tak 
ing  the  fan,  which  he  returned  to  her,  and 
stroking  one  of  the  bigger  opals  with  her  finger- 
tip. 

"Have  you  no  superstitions?"  he  asked. 

c<  I  hope  not  —  I  don't  think  I  have,"  she 
170 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

answered.  "  We  're  not  allowed  to  have  super 
stitions,  you  know  —  nous  autres  Catholiques" 

"  Oh  ? "  he  said,  with  surprise.  "  No,  I 
didn't  know." 

"Yes,  they're  a  forbidden  luxury.  But 
you  —  ?  Are  you  superstitious  ?  Would  you 
be  afraid  of  opals  ? " 

"  I  doubt  if  I  should  have  the  courage  to 
wear  one.  At  all  events,  I  don't  regard  super 
stitions  in  the  light  of  a  luxury.  I  should  be 
glad  to  be  rid  of  those  I  have.  They're  a 
horrible  inconvenience.  But  I  can't  get  it  out 
of  my  head  that  the  air  is  filled  with  a  swarm 
of  malignant  little  devils,  who  are  always  watch 
ing  their  chance  to  do  us  an  ill  turn.  We 
don't  in  the  least  know  the  conditions  under 
which  they  can  bring  it  off;  but  it 's  legendary 
that  if  we  wear  opals,  or  sit  thirteen  at  table,  or 
start  an  enterprise  on  Friday,  or  what  not,  we 
somehow  give  them  their  opportunity.  And 
one  naturally  wishes  to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

She  looked  at  him  with  doubt,  considering. 

<c  You  don't  seriously  believe  all  that  ? "  she 
said. 

"  No,  I  don't  seriously  believe  it.  But  one 
breathes  it  in  with  the  air  of  one's  nursery,  and 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

it  sticks.  I  don't  believe  it,  but  I  fear  it  just 
enough  to  be  made  uneasy.  The  evil  eye,  for 
instance.  How  can  one  spend  any  time  in 
Italy,  where  everybody  goes  loaded  with 
charms  against  it,  and  help  having  a  sort  of 
sneaking  half-belief  in  the  evil  eye?" 

She  shook  her  head,  laughing. 

"  I  Ve  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  Italy, 
but  I  have  n't  so  much  as  a  sneaking  quarter- 
belief  in  it." 

"  I  envy  you  your  strength  of  mind,"  said 
he.  "  But  surely,  though  superstition  is  a 
luxury  forbidden  to  Catholics,  there  are  plenty 
of  good  Catholics  who  indulge  in  it,  all  the 
same  ? " 

"  There  are  never  plenty  of  good  Catholics," 
said  she,  "You  employ  a  much-abused 
expression.  To  profess  the  Catholic  faith,  to 
go  to  Mass  on  Sunday  and  abstain  from  meat 
on  Friday,  that  is  by  no  means  sufficient  to 
constitute  zgood  Catholic.  To  be  a  good  Cath 
olic  one  would  hav^e  to  be  a  saint,  nothing  less 
—  and  not  a  mere  formal  saint,  either,  but  a 
very  real  saint,  a  saint  in  thought  and  feeling, 
as  well  as  in  speech  and  action.  Just  in  so  far 
as  one  is  superstitious,  one  is  a  bad  Catholic 
173 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Oh,  if  the  world  were  populated  by  good  Cath 
olics,  it  would  be  the  Millennium  come  to 
pass." 

"  It  would  be  that,  if  it  were  populated  by 
good  Christians  —  wouldn't  it?"  asked  Peter. 

"  The  terms  are  interchangeable,"  she  an 
swered  sweetly,  with  a  half-comical  look  of 
defiance. 

"Mercy!"  cried  he.  "Can't  a  Protestant 
be  a  good  Christian  too  ?  " 

c  Yes,"  she  said,  "  because  a  Protestant  can 
be  a  Catholic  without  knowing  it." 

"  Oh  —  ?  "  he  puzzled,  frowning. 

"It's  quite  simple,"  she  explained.  "You 
can't  be  a  Christian  unless  you  're  a  Catholic. 
But  if  you  believe  as  much  of  Christian  truth 
as  you  Ve  ever  had  a  fair  opportunity  of  learn 
ing,  and  if  you  try  to  live  in  accordance  with 
Christian  morals,  you  are  a  Catholic,  you  're  a 
member  of  the  Catholic  Church,  whether  you 
know  it  or  not.  You  can't  be  deprived  of 
your  birthright,  you  see." 

"That  seems  rather  broad,"  said  Peter; 
"and  one  had  always  heard  that  Catholicism 
was  nothing  if  not  narrow." 

"  How  could  it  be  Catholic  if  it  were  nar- 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

row  ? "  asked  she,  "  However,  if  a  Protestant 
uses  his  intelligence,  and  is  logical,  he  'II  not 
remain  an  unconscious  Catholic  long.  If  he 
studies  the  matter,  and  is  logical,  he  11  wish  to 
unite  himself  to  the  Church  in  her  visible  body. 
Look  at  England.  See  how  logic  is  multiply 
ing  converts  year  by  year." 

"  But  it's  the  glory  of  Englishmen  to  be 
i/logical/'  said  Peter,  with  a  laugh.  "  Our  capa 
city  for  not  following  premisses  to  their  logical 
consequences  is  the  principal  source  of  our 
national  greatness,  So  the  bulk  of  the  English 
are  likely  to  resist  conversion  for  centuries  to 
come  —  are  they  not?  And  then,  nowadays, 
one  is  so  apt  to  be  an  indifferentist  in  matters 
of  religion  —  and  Catholicism  is  so  exacting. 
One  remains  a  Protestant  from  the  love  of 


ease/9 


"  And  from  the  desire,  on  the  part  of  a  good 
many  Englishmen  at  least,  to  sail  in  a  boat  of 
their  own  —  not  to  get  mixed  up  with  a  lot 
of  foreign  publicans  and  sinners  —  no  ?  "  she 
suggested. 

"Oh,  of  course,  we're  insular  and  we're 
Pharisaical,"  admitted  Peter, 

**  And  as  for  one's  indifference/'  she  smiled, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  that  is  most  probably  due  to  one's  youth  and 
inexperience.  One  can't  come  to  close  quar 
ters  with  the  realities  of  life  —  with  sorrow, 
with  great  joy,  with  temptation,  with  sin  or 
with  heroic  virtue,  with  death,  with  the  birth  of 
a  new  soul,  with  any  of  the  awful,  wonderful 
realities  of  life  —  and  continue  to  be  an  indif- 
ferentist  in  matters  of  religion,  do  you  think  ? " 

"  When  one  comes  to  close  quarters  with  the 
awful,  wonderful  realities  of  life,  one  has  re 
ligious  moments,"  he  acknowledged.  "  But 
they're  generally  rather  fugitive,  are  n't  they  ?  " 

"  One  can  cultivate  them  —  one  can  encour 
age  them,"  she  said.  "  If  you  would  care  to 
know  a  good  Catholic,"  she  added,  "  my  niece, 
my  little  ward,  Emilia  is  one.  She  wants  to 
become  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  to  spend  her  life 
nursing  the  poor." 

"  Oh  ?  Would  n't  that  be  rather  a  pity  ?  " 
Peter  said.  "  She 's  so  extremely  pretty.  I 
don't  know  when  I  have  seen  prettier  brown 
eyes  than  hers." 

"  Well,  in  a  few  years,  I  expect  we  shall  see 
those  pretty  brown  eyes  looking  out  from 
under  a  sister's  coif.  No,  I  don't  think  it  will 
be  a  pity.  Nuns  and  sisters,  I  think,  are  the 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

happiest  people  in  the  world  —  and  priests. 
Have  you  ever  met  any  one  who  seemed  hap 
pier  than  my  uncle,  for  example  ?  " 

"  I  have  certainly  never  met  any  one  who 
seemed  sweeter,  kinder,"  Peter  confessed. 
"  He  has  a  wonderful  old  face," 

"He's  a  wonderful  old  man,"  said  she. 
"  I  'm  going  to  try  to  keep  him  a  prisoner  here 
for  the  rest  of  the  summer  —  though  he  will 
have  it  that  he's  just  run  down  for  a  week. 
He  works  a  great  deal  too  hard  when  he 's  in 
Rome.  He 's  the  only  Cardinal  I  Ve  ever 
heard  of,  who  takes  practical  charge  of  his  titu 
lar  church.  But  here  in  the  country  he 's  out- 
of-doors  all  the  blessed  day,  hand  in  hand  with 
Emilia.  He's  as  young  as  she  is,  I  believe. 
They  play  together  like  children  —  and  make 
me  feel  as  staid  and  solemn  and  grown-up  as 
one  of  Mr.  Kenneth  Grahame's  Olympians." 

Peter  laughed.  Then,  in  the  moment  of 
silence  that  followed,  he  happened  to  let  his 
eyes  stray  up  the  valley, 

"  Hello  !  "  he  suddenly  exclaimed.  "  Some 
one  has  been  painting  our  mountain  green." 

The  Duchessa  turned,  to  look  ;  and  she  too 
uttered  an  exclamation. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

By  some  accident  of  reflection  or  refraction, 
the  snows  of  Monte  Sfiorito  had  become  bright 
green,  as  if  the  light  that  fell  on  them  had 
passed  through  emeralds.  They  both  paused, 
to  gaze  and  marvel  for  a  little.  Indeed,  the 
prospect  was  a  pleasing  one,  as  well  as  a 
surprising  —  the  sunny  lawns,  the  high  trees, 
the  blue  lake,  and  then  that  bright  green 
mountain. 

"  I  have  never  known  anything  like  those 
snow-peaks  for  sailing  under  false  colours,'* 
Peter  said.  "  I  have  seen  them  every  colour 
of  the  calendar,  except  their  native  white." 

"You  mustn't  blame  the  poor  things," 
pleaded  the  Duchessa.  "  They  can't  help  it. 
It's  all  along  o'  the  distance  and  the  atmos 
phere  and  the  sun." 

She  closed  her  fan,  with  which  she  had  been 
more  or  less  idly  playing  throughout  their 
dialogue,  and  replaced  it  on  the  table.  Among 
the  books  there  —  French  books,  for  the  most 
part,  in  yellow  paper  —  Peter  saw,  with  some 
thing  of  a  flutter  (he  could  never  see  it  without 
something  of  a  flutter),  the  grey-and-gold  bind 
ing  of  "A  Man  of  Words." 

The  Duchessa  caught  his  glance. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  your  friend's  novel.  I 
told  you  I  had  been  re-reading  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

"And  —  do  you  know — I'm  inclined  to 
agree  with  your  own  enthusiastic  estimate  of 
it  ? "  she  went  on.  "  I  think  it 's  extremely  — 
but  extremely  —  clever;  and  more  —  very  charm^ 
ing,  very  beautiful.  The  fatal  gift  of  beauty!  " 

And  her  smile  reminded  him  that  the  appli 
cation  of  the  tag  was  his  own. 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

"  Its  beauty,  though,"  she  reflected,  "  is  n't 
exactly  of  the  obvious  sort  —  is  it?  It  does  n't 
jump  at  you,  for  instance.  It  is  rather  in  the 
texture  of  the  work,  than  on  the  surface.  One 
has  to  look,  to  see  it." 

"  One  always  has  to  look,  to  see  beauty  that 
is  worth  seeing,"  he  safely  generalised.  But 
then  —  he  had  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  —  his 
hobby  bolted  with  him.  "  It  takes  two  to 
make  a  beautiful  object.  The  eye  of  the  be 
holder  is  every  bit  as  indispensable  as  the 
hand  of  the  artist.  The  artist  does  his  work 
—  the  beholder  must  do  his.  They  are  col 
laborators.  Each  must  be  the  other's  equal ; 
and  they  must  also  be  like  each  other  —  with 


The  Cardinal's  Snuft-Box 

the  likeness  of  opposites,  of  complements. 
Art,  in  short,  is  entirely  a  matter  of  reciprocity. 
The  kind  of  beauty  that  jumps  at  you  is  the 
kind  you  end  by  getting  heartily  tired  of — 
is  the  skin-deep  kind ;  and  therefore  it  is  n't 
really  beauty  at  all  —  it  is  only  an  approxima 
tion  to  beauty  —  it  may  be  only  a  simulacrum 
of  it." 

Her  eyes  were  smiling,  her  face  was  glow 
ing,  softly,  with  interest,  with  friendliness  — 
and  perhaps  with  the  least  suspicion  of  some 
thing  else — perhaps  with  the  faintest  glimmer 
of  suppressed  amusement;  but  interest  was 
easily  predominant. 

cc  Yes,"  she  assented.  .  .  .  But  then  she  pur 
sued  her  own  train  of  ideas.  "And  —  with 
you  —  I  particularly  like  the  woman  — -  Paul 
ine.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  like  her, 
I  —  it  sounds  extravagant,  but  it 's  true  —  I 
can  think  of  no  other  woman  in  the  whole  of 
fiction  whom  I  like  so  well  —  who  makes  so 
curiously  personal  an  appeal  to  me.  Her  wit 
—  her  waywardness  —  her  tenderness  — •  her 
generosity —  everything.  How  did  your  friend 
come  by  his  conception  of  her  ?  She 's  as  rea! 
to  me  as  anv  woman  I  have  ever  known  — 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

she  's  more  real  to  me  than  most  of  the  women 
I  know  —  she's  absolutely  real,  she  lives,  she 
breathes.  Yet  I  have  never  known  a  woman 
resembling  her.  Life  would  be  a  merrier  busi 
ness  if  one  did  know  women  resembling  her. 
She  seems  to  me  all  that  a  woman  ought 
ideally  to  be.  Does  your  friend  know  women 
like  that  —  the  lucky  man  ?  Or  is  Pauline, 
for  all  her  convincingness,  a  pure  creature  of 
imagination  ? " 

"Ah,"  said  Peter,  laughing,  "  you  touch  the 
secret  springs  of  my  friend's  inspiration. 
That  is  a  story  in  itself.  Felix  Wildmay  is  a 
perfectly  commonplace  Englishman.  How 
could  a  woman  like  Pauline  be  the  creature  of 
his  imagination  ?  No  —  she  was  a  c  thing  seen/ 
God  made  her.  Wildmay  was  a  mere  copyist. 
He  drew  her,  tant  bien  que  mal,  from  the  life  — 
from  a  woman  who's  actually  alive  on  this 
dull  globe  to-day.  But  that's  the  story." 

The  Duchessa's  eyes  were  intent. 

"  The  story  —  ?  Tell  me  the  story,"  she  pro 
nounced  in  a  breath,  with  imperious  eagerness. 

And  her  eyes  waited,  intently. 

"Oh,"  said  Peter,  "it's  one  of  those  stones 
that  can  scarcely  be  told.  There 's  hardly  any- 
180 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

thing  to  take  hold  of.  It 's  without  incident* 
without  progression  —  it  *s  all  subjective  —  it 's 
a  drama  in  states  of  mind.  Pauline  was  a 
*  thing  seen/  indeed ;  but  she  was  n't  a  thing 
known :  she  was  a  thing  divined.  Wildmay 
never  knew  her  —  never  even  knew  who  she 
was  —  never  knew  her  name — never  even 
knew  her  nationality,  though,  as  the  book 
shows,  he  guessed  her  to  be  an  Englishwoman, 
married  to  a  Frenchman.  He  simply  saw  her, 
from  a  distance,  half-a-dozen  times  perhaps, 
He  saw  her  in  Paris,  once  or  twice,  at  the 
theatre,  at  the  opera;  and  then  later  again, 
once  or  twice,  in  London ;  and  then,  once 
more,  in  Paris,  in  the  Bois,  That  was  all,  but 
that  was  enough.  Her  appearance  —  her  face, 
her  eyes,  her  smile,  her  way  of  carrying  her 
self,  her  way  of  carrying  her  head,  her  gestures, 
her  movements,  her  way  of  dressing  —  he  never 
so  much  as  heard  her  voice  - —  her  mere  appear 
ance  made  an  impression  on  him  such  as  all  the 
rest  of  womankind  had  totally  failed  to  make. 
She  was  exceedingly  lovely,  of  course,  exceed 
ingly  distinguished,  noble-looking;  but  she 
was  infinitely  more.  Her  face  —  her  whole 
person  —  had  an  expression  !  A  spirit  burned 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

in  her  —  a  prismatic,  aromatic  fire.  Othei 
women  seemed  dust,  seemed  dead,  beside  her 
She  was  a  garden,  inexhaustible,  of  promises,  of 
suggestions.  Wit,  capriciousness,  generosity, 
emotion  —  you  have  said  it  —  they  were  all 
there.  Race  was  there,  nerve.  Sex  was  there 
—  all  the  mystery,  magic,  all  the  essential,  ele 
mental  principles  of  the  Feminine,  were  there ; 
she  was  a  woman.  A  wonderful,  strenuous  soul 
was  there :  Wildmay  saw  it,  felt  it.  He  did  n't 
know  her  —  he  had  no  hope  of  ever  knowing 
her — but  he  knew  her  better  than  he  knew 
any  one  else  in  the  world.  She  became  the 
absorbing  subject  of  his  thoughts,  the  heroine 
of  his  dreams >  She  became,  in  fact,  the 
supreme  influence  of  his  life.'* 

The  Duchessa's  eyes  had  not  lost  their  intent- 
ness,  while  he  was  speaking.  Now  that  he 
had  finished,  she  looked  down  at  her  hands, 
folded  in  her  lap,  and  mused  for  a  moment  in 
silence.  At  last  she  looked  up  again. 

"It's  as  strange  as  anything  1  have  ever 
heard,"  she  said,  "it's  furiously  strange  —  and 
romantic  —  and  interesting.  But  —  but  —  " 
She  frowned  a  little,  hesitating  between  a  choice 
of  questionSc 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Oh,  it's  a  story  all  compact  of  '  buts,f  * 
Peter  threw  out  laughing. 

She  let  the  remark  pass  her  —  she  had  set 
tled  upon  her  question. 

"  But  how  could  he  endure  such  a  situa 
tion  ?  "  she  asked.  "  How  could  he  sit  still 
under  it?  Did  n't  he  try  in  any  way  —  did  n't 
he  make  any  effort  at  all  —  to  —  to  find  her  out 
—  to  discover  who  she  was  —  to  get  introduced 
to  her?  I  should  think  he  could  never  have 
rested  —  I  should  think  he  would  have  moved 
heaven  and  earth." 

"  What  could  he  do  ?  Tell  me  a  single 
thing  he  could  have  done,"  said  Peter.  "  Soci 
ety  has  made  no  provision  for  a  case  like  his. 
It's  absurd  —  but  there  it  is.  You  see  a 
woman  somewhere ;  you  long  to  make  her 
acquaintance ;  and  there 's  no  natural  bar  to 
your  doing  so  —  you're  a  presentable  man  — 
she 's  what  they  call  a  lady  —  you  're  both, 
more  or  less,  of  the  same  monde.  Yet  there  's 
positively  no  way  known  by  which  you  can 
contrive  it  —  unless  chance,  mere  fortuitous 
chance,  just  happens  to  drop  a  common 
acquaintance  between  you,  at  the  right  time 
and  place.  Chance,  in  Wildmay's  case,  hap- 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

pened  to  drop  all  the  common  acquaintances 
they  may  possibly  have  had  at  a  deplorable 
distance.  He  was  alone  on  each  of  the  occa 
sions  when  he  saw  her.  There  was  no  one  he 
could  ask  to  introduce  him ;  there  was  no  one 
he  could  apply  to  for  information  concerning 
her.  He  could  n't  very  well  follow  her  car 
nage  through  the  streets  —  dog  her  to  her  lair, 
like  a  detective.  Well  —  what  then  ?  " 

The  Duchessa  was  playing  with  her  fan 
again. 

"  No,"  she  agreed ;  <c  I  suppose  it  was  hope 
less.  But  it  seems  rather  hard  on  the  poor 
man  —  rather  baffling  and  tantalising." 

"  The  poor  man  thought  it  so,  to  be  sure/' 
said  Peter ;  "  he  fretted  and  fumed  a  good 
deal,  and  kicked  against  the  pricks.  Here, 
there,  now,  anon,  he  would  enjoy  his  brief  little 
vision  of  her —  then  she  would  vanish  into  the 
deep  inane.  So,  in  the  end  —  he  had  to  take 
it  out  in  something  —  he  took  it  out  in  writing 
a  book  about  her.  He  propped  up  a  mental 
portrait  of  her  on  his  desk  before  him,  and 
translated  it  into  the  character  of  Pauline.  In 
that  way  he  was  able  to  spend  long  delightful 
hours  alone  with  her  every  day,  in  a  kind  of 
184 


The  CardinaPs  Snuff-Box 

metaphysical  intimacy.  He  had  never  heard 
her  voice  —  but  now  he  heard  it  as  often  as 
Pauline  opened  her  lips.  He  owned  her  —  he 
possessed  her  —  she  lived  under  his  roof—  she- 
was  always  waiting  for  him  in  his  study.  She 
is  real  to  you?  She  was  inexpressibly,  miracu 
lously  real  to  him.  He  saw  her,  knew  her,  felt 
her,  realised  her,  in  every  detail  of  her  mind,  her 
soul,  her  person — down  to  the  very  intonations 
of  her  speech  —  down  to  the  veins  in  her  hands, 
the  rings  on  her  fingers  — down  to  her  very  furs 
and  laces,  the  frou-frou  of  her  skirts,  the  scent 
upon  her  pocket-handkerchief.  He  had  num 
bered  the  hairs  of  her  head,  almost." 

Again  the  Duchessa  mused  for  a  while  in 
silence,  opening  and  shutting  her  fan,  and 
gazing  into  its  opals, 

"  I  am  thinking  of  it  from  the  woman's 
point  of  view,"  she  said,  by  and  by.  "To 
have  played  such  a  part  hi  a  man's  life  —  and 
never  to  have  dreamed  it !  Never  even,  very 
likely,  to  have  dreamed  that  such  a  man  existed 

—  for  it's  entirely  possible  she  didn't  notice 
him,   on    those   occasions   when    he    saw   her. 
And  to  have  been  the  subject  of  such  a  novel 

—  and   never  to   have   dreamed    that,   either! 

185 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

To  have  read  the  novel  perhaps  —  without 
dreaming  for  an  instant  that  there  was  any  sort 
of  connection  between  Pauline  and  herself! 
Or  else  —  what  would  almost  be  stranger  still 
—  not  to  have  read  the  novel,  not  to  have  heard 
of  it !  To  have  inspired  such  a  book,  such  a 
beautiful  book  —  yet  to  remain  in  sheer  uncon 
scious  ignorance  that  there  was  such  a  book ! 
Oh,  I  think  it  is  even  more  extraordinary  from 
the  woman's  point  of  view  than  from  the  man's. 
There  is  something  almost  terrifying  about  it. 
To  have  had  such  an  influence  on  the  destiny 
of  someone  you  Ve  never  heard  of!  There  's 
a  kind  of  intangible  sense  of  a  responsibility." 

"  There  is  also,  perhaps,"  laughed  Peter,  "  a 
kind  of  intangible  sense  of  a  liberty  taken. 
I  'm  bound  to  say  I  think  Wildmay  was  de 
cidedly  at  his  ease.  To  appropriate  in  that  cool 
fashion  the  personality  of  a  total  stranger ! 
But  artists  are  the  most  unprincipled  folk 
unhung.  Us  prennent  leur  bien  la,  ou  Us  le 
trouvent" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  Duchessa,  "  I  think  she 

was   fair   game.     One    can   carry   delicacy  too 

far.     He   was   entitled  to  the  benefits   of  his 

discovery  —  for,  after  all,  it  was  a  discovery, 

186 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

was  n't  it  ?  You  have  said  yourself  how  indis 
pensable  the  eye  of  the  beholder  is  — c  the 
seeing  eye/  I  think,  indeed,  the  whole  affair 
speaks  extremely  well  for  Mr.  Wildmay.  It 
is  not  every  man  who  would  be  capable  of  so 
purely  intellectual  a  passion.  I  suppose  one 
must  call  his  feeling  for  her  a  passion  ?  It 
indicates  a  distinction  in  his  nature.  He  can 
hardly  be  a  mere  materialist.  But — but  I  think 
it 's  heart-rending  that  he  never  met  her." 

"Oh,  but  that's  the  continuation  of  the 
story,"  said  Peter.  "He  did  meet  her  in  the 
end,  you  know/* 

"He  did  meet  her ! "  cried  the  Duchessa, 
starting  up,  with  a  sudden  access  of  interest, 
whilst  her  eyes  lightened.  "  He  did  meet 
her  ?  Oh,  you  must  tell  me  about  that." 

And  just  at  this  crisis  the  Cardinal  and 
Emilia  appeared,  climbing  the  terrace  steps. 

"  Bother  !  "  exclaimed  the  Duchessa,  under 
her  breath.  Then,  to  Peter,  "It  will  have  to 
be  for  another  time — unless  I  die  of  the 
suspense/' 

After  the  necessary  greetings  were  transacted, 
another  elderly  priest  joined  the  company ;  a 
tall,  burly,  rather  florid  man,  mentioned,  when 
187 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Peter  was  introduced  to  him,  as  Monsignor 
Langshawe.  "  This  really  is  her  chaplain/' 
Peter  concluded.  Then  a  servant  brought  tea. 

"Ah,  Diamond,  Diamond,  you  little  know 
what  mischief  you  might  have  wrought,"  he 
admonished  himself,  as  he  walked  home 
through  the  level  sunshine.  "In  another 
instant,  if  we'd  not  been  interrupted,  you 
would  have  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  The 
premature  escape  of  the  cat  from  the  bag  would 
spoil  everything/* 

And  he  hugged  himself,  as  one  snatched 
from  peril,  in  a  qualm  of  retroactive  terror. 
At  the  same  time  he  was  filled  with  a  kind  of 
exultancy.  All  that  he  had  hoped  had  come 
to  pass,  and  more,  vastly  more.  Not  only  had 
he  been  received  as  a  friend  at  Ventirose,  but 
he  had  been  encouraged  to  tell  her  a  part  at 
least  of  the  stoAy  by  which  her  life  and  his 
were  so  curiously  connected ;  and  he  had  been 
snatched  from  the  peril  of  telling  her  too 
much.  The  day  was  not  yet  when  he  could 
safely  say,  "  Mutato  nomine.  .  .  ."  Would  the 
day  ever  be  ?  But,  meanwhile,  just  to  have 
told  her  the  first  ten  lines  of  that  story,  he 
could  not  help  feeling,  somehow  advanced 

*88 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

matters    tremendously,    somehow   put   a   new 
face  on  matters. 

"  The  hour  for  which  the  ages  sighed  may 
not  be  so  far  away  as  you  think/'  he  said  to 
Marietta.  "The  curtain  has  risen  upon  Act 
Three.  I  fancy  I  can  perceive  faint  glimmer 
ings  of  the  beginning  of  the  end." 


'89 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XIX 

ALL  that  evening,  something  which  he  had  not 
been  conscious  of  noticing  especially  when  it 
was  present  to  him  —  certainly  he  had  paid  no 
conscious  attention  to  its  details  — kept  recur 
ring  and  recurring  to  Peter's  memory:  the 
appearance  of  the  prettily-arranged  terrace-end 
at  Ventirose:  the  white  awning,  with  the  blue 
sky  at  its  edges,  the  sunny  park  beyond ;  the 
warm-hued  carpets  on  the  marble  pavement; 
the  wicker  chairs,  with  their  bright  cushions ; 
the  table,  with  its  books  and  bibelots  — the 
yellow  French  books,  a  tortoise-shell  paper- 
knife,  a  silver  paper-weight,  a  crystal  smelling- 
bottle,  a  bowlful  of  drooping  poppies  ;  and  the 
marble  balustrade,  with  its  delicate  tracery  of 
leaves  and  tendrils,  where  the  jessamine  twined 
round  its  pillars. 

This  kept  recurring,  recurring,  vividly,  ^a 
picture  that  he  could  see  without  closing  his 
eyes,  a  picture  with  a  very  decided  sentiment. 
Like  the  gay  and  gleaming  many-pinnacled 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

fa9ade  of  her  house,  it  seemed  appropriate  to 
her ;  it  seemed  in  its  fashion  to  express  her. 
Nay,  it  seemed  to  do  more.  It  was  a  corner 
of  her  every-day  environment;  these  things 
were  the  companions,  the  witnesses,  of  moments 
of  her  life,  phases  of  herself,  which  were  hidden 
from  Peter ;  they  were  the  companions  and 
witnesses  of  her  solitude,  her  privacy;  they 
were  her  confidants,  in  a  way,,  They  seemed 
not  merely  to  express  her,  therefore,  but  to  be 
continually  on  the  point  —  I  had  almost  said 
of  betraying  her.  At  all  events,  if  he  could 
only  understand  their  silent  language,  they 
would  prove  rich  in  precious  revelations.  So 
he  welcomed  their  recurrences,  dwelt  upon 
them,  pondered  them,  and  got  a  deep  if  some 
what  inarticulate  pleasure  from  them. 

On  Thursday,  as  he  approached  the  castle, 
the  last  fires  of  sunset  were  burning  in  the  sky 
behind  it  —  the  long  irregular  mass  of  build 
ings  stood  out  in  varying  shades  of  blue 
against  varying,  dying  shades  of  red  :  the  grey 
stone,  dark,  velvety  indigo ;  the  pink  stucco, 
pink  still,  but  with  a  transparent  blue  penumbra 
over  it ;  the  white  marble,  palely,  scintiliantb 
amethystine.  And  if  he  was  interested  in 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

environment,  now  he  could  study  it  to  his 
heart's  content :  the  wide  marble  staircase,  up 
which  he  was  shown,  with  its  crimson  carpet, 
and  the  big  mellow  painting,  that  looked  as  if 
it  might  be  a  Titian,  at  the  top  ;  the  great 
saloon,  in  which  he  was  received,  with  its 
polished  mosaic  floor,  its  frescoed  ceiling,  its 
white-and-gold  panelling,  its  hangings  and 
upholsteries  of  yellow  brocade,  its  satinwood 
chairs  and  tables,  its  bronzes,  porcelains,  em 
broideries,  its  screens  and  mirrors  ;  the  long 
dining-hall,  with  its  high  pointed  windows,  its 
slender  marble  columns  supporting  a  vaulted 
roof,  its  twinkling  candles  in  chandeliers  and 
sconces  of  cloudy  Venetian  glass,  its  brilliant 
table,  its  flowers  and  their  colours  and  their 
scents. 

He  could  study  her  environment  to  his 
heart's  content,  indeed  —  or  to  his  heart's 
despair.  For  all  this  had  rather  the  effect  of 
chilling,  of  depressing  him.  It  was  very  splen 
did  ;  it  was  very  luxurious  and  cheerful ;  it  v/as 
appropriate  and  personal  to  her,  if  you  like ; 
no  doubt,  in  its  fashion>  in  its  measure,  it,  too, 
expressed  hen  But,  at  that  rate,  it  expressed 
her  in  an  aspect  which  Peter  had  instinctively 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

made  it  his  habit  to  forget,  which  he  by  no  meant 
found  it  inspiriting  to  remember  It  expressed^ 
it  emphasised,  her  wealth,  her  rank  j  it  empha 
sised  the  distance*  in  a  worldly  sense,  between 
her  and  himself*  the  conventional  barriers. 

And  she  <  „  . 

She  was  very  lovely,  she  was  entirely  cordial, 
friendly,  she  was  all  that  she  had  ever  been  — 
and  yet  —  and  yet—  Well,  somehow,  she 
seemed  indefinably  different.  Somehow,  againf 
the  distance,  the  barriers,  were  emphasised. 
She  was  very  lovely,  she  was  entirely  cordial, 
friendly,  she  was  ail  that  she  had  ever  been  ; 
but,  somehow,  to-night,  she  seemed  very  much 
the  great  lady,  very  much  the  duchess.  .  .  . 

"  My  dear  man,"  he  said  to  himself,  u  you 
were  mad  to  dream  for  a  single  instant  that 
there  was  the  remotest  possibility  of  anything 
ever  happening." 

The  only  other  guests,  besides  the  Cardinal 
and  Monsignor  Langshawe,  were  an  old 
Frenchwoman,  with  beautiful  white  hair,  from 
one  of  the  neighbouring  villas,  Madame  de 
Lafere,  and  a  young,  pretty,  witty,  and  voiubie 
Irishwoman,  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence,  from 
an  hotel  at  Spiaggia,  In  deference,  perhaps, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

to  the  cloth  of  the  two  ecclesiastics,  none  of 
tne  women  were  in  full  evening-dresSj  and  there 
was  no  arm-taking  when  they  went  in  to  dinner, 
The  dinner  itself  was  of  a  simplicity  which  Peter 
thought  admirable,  and  which,  of  course,  he 
attributed  to  his  Duchessa's  own  good  taste. 
He  was  not  yet  familiar  enough  with  the  Black 
aristocracy  of  Italy,  to  be  aware  that  in  the 
matter  of  food  and  drink  simplicity  is  as  much 
the  criterion  of  good  form  amongst  them,  as 
lavish  complexity  is  the  criterion  of  good  form 
amongst  the  English-imitating  Whites. 

The  conversation,  I  believe,  took  its  direc 
tion  chiefly  from  the  initiative  of  Mrs. 
O* Donovan  Florence.  With  great  sprightli- 
ness  and  humour,  and  with  an  astonishing 
light-hearted  courage,  she  rallied  the  Cardinal 
upon  the  neglect  in  which  her  native  island 
was  allowed  to  languish  by  the  powers  at  Rome. 
"  The  most  Catholic  country  in  three  hemi 
spheres,  to  be  sure,**  she  said  ;  "  every  inch  of 
its  soil  soaked  with  the  blood  of  martyrs.  Yet 
you  Ve  not  added  an  Irish  saint  to  the  Calendar 
for  I  see  you  *re  blushing  to  think  how  many 
ages ;  and  you  Ve  taken  sides  with  the  heretic 
Saxon  against  us  in  our  struggle  for  Home 
194 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Rule  —  which  I  blame  you  for,  though,  being 
a  land-owner  and  a  bit  of  an  absentee,  I  *m  a 
traitorous  Unionist  myself." 

The  Cardinal  laughingly  retorted  that  the 
Irish  were  far  too  fine,  too  imaginative  and 
poetical  a  race,  to  be  bothered  with  material 
questions  of  government  and  administration. 
They  should  leave  such  cares  to  the  stolid,  prac 
tical  English,  and  devote  the  leisure  they  would 
thus  obtain  to  the  further  exercise  and  develop 
ment  of  what  someone  had  called  <c  the  star- 
fire  of  the  Celtic  nature."  Ireland  should  look 
upon  England  as  her  working-housekeeper^ 
And  as  for  the  addition  of  Irish  saints  to  the 
Calendar,  the  stumbling-block  was  their  exces 
sive  number,  "  'T  is  an  embarrassment  of 
riches.  If  we  were  once  to  begin,  we  could 
never  leave  off  till  we  had  canonised  nine- 
tenths  of  the  dead  population/* 

Monsignor  Langshawe,  at  this  (making  jest 
the  cue  for  earnest),  spoke  up  for  Scotland* 
and  deplored  the  delay  in  the  beatification  of 
"  Blessed  Mary,"  «  The  official  beatification," 
he  discriminated,  "  for  she  was  beatified  in  the 
heart  of  every  true  Catholic  Scot  on  the  day 
when  Bloody  Elizabeth  murdered 


The  Cardinal's  Sautf-Box 

And  Madame  de  Lafere  put  in  a  plea^  for 
Louis  XVI.,  Marie-Antoinette,  and  the  little 
Dauphin. 

"  Blessed  Mary — Bloody  Elizabeth/'  laughed 
the  Duchessa,  in  an  aside  to  Peter ;  "  here  is 
language  to  use  in  the  presence  of  a  Protestant 
Englishman." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  accustomed  to  *  Bloody  Eliza 
beth/  "  said  he.  "  Was  n't  it  a  word  of  Cardinal 
Newman's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so/'  said  she.  "  And  since 
every  one  is  naming  his  candidate  for  the  Calen 
dar,  you  have  named  mine.  I  think  there  never 
was  a  saintlier  saint  than  Cardinal  Newman." 

"  What  is  your  Eminence's  attitude  towards 
the    question    of    mixed    marriages?"     Mrs. 
O' Donovan  Florence  asked. 
Peter  pricked  up  his  ears. 
"It  is  not  the  question  of  actuality  in  Italy 
that  it  is  in  England,"  his  Eminence  replied  ; 
"  but  in  the  abstract,  and  other  things  equal, 
my  attitude  would  of  course  be  one  of  dis 
approval." 

«  And  yet  surely/'  contended  she, "  if  a  pious 
Catholic  girl  marries  a  Protestant  man,jshe  has 
0  hundred  chances  of  converting  him?  *" 
1*6 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

w  I  don't  know/*  said  the  Cardinal. 
$c  Would  n't  it  be  safer  to  let  the  conversion 
precede  the  marriage  ?  Afterwards,  I  *m  afraid, 
he  would  have  a  hundred  chances  of  inducing 
her  to  apostatise,  or,  at  least,  of  rendering  her 
lukewarm." 

"  Not  if  she  had  a  spark  of  the  true  zeal/' 
said  Mrs,  O'Donovan  Florence.  <f  Any  wife 
can  make  her  husband's  life  a  burden  to  him, 
if  she  will  conscientiously  lay  herself  out  to  do 
so,  The  man  would  be  glad  to  submit,  for 
the  sake  of  peace  in  his  household.  I  often 
sigh  for  the  good  old  days  of  the  Inquisi 
tion  ;  but  it 's  still  possible,  in  the  blessed 
seclusion  of  the  family  circle,  to  apply  the 
rack  and  the  thumbscrew  in  a  modified  form. 
I  know  a  dozen  fine  young  Protestant  men 
in  London  whom  I  *m  labouring  to  convert, 
and  I  feel  I  'm  defeated  only  by  the  circum 
stance  that  I  *m  not  in  a  position  to  lead 
them  to  the  altar  in  the  full  meaning  of  the 
expression." 

"  A  dozen  ?"  the  Cardinal  laughed.  "  Are  n't 
you  complicating  the  question  of  mixed  mar 
riages  with  that  of  plural  marriage  ? " 

merely  a   little   Hibernicism,    fo* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

which  I  beg  your  Eminence's  indulgence/5' 
laughed  she.  "  But  what  puts  the  most  spokes 
in  a  proselytiser's  wheel  is  the  Faith  itself.  If 
we  only  deserved  the  reputation  for  sharp  prac 
tice  and  double  dealing  which  the  Protestants 
have  foisted  upon  us,  it  would  be  roses,  roses, 
all  the  way.  Why  are  we  forbidden  to  let  the 
end  justify  the  means  ?  And  where  are  those 
accommodements  avec  le  del  of  which  we  Ve  heard? 
We're  not  even  permitted  a  few  poor  accom 
modements  avec  le  monde" 

"  Look  at  my  uncle's  face,"  whispered  the 
Duchessa  to  Peter,  The  Cardinal's  fine  old 
face  was  all  alight  with  amusement  **  In  his 
fondness  for  taking  things  by  their  humorous 
end,  he  has  met  an  affinity." 

"It  will  be  a  grand  day  for  the  Church  and 
the  nations,  when  we  have  an  Irish  Pope," 
Mrs»  O'Donovan  Florence  continued*  "A 
good,  stalwart,  militant  Irishman  is  what's 
needed  to  set  everything  right.  With  a  sweet 
Irish  tongue,  he'd  win  home  the  wandering 
sheep ;  and  with  a  strong  Irish  arm,  he  'd 
drive  the  wolves  from  the  fold*  It's  he 
that  would  soon  sweep  the  Italians  out  of 
Borne,** 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

i 

*'The  Italians  will  soon  be  swept  out  of 
Rome  by  the  natural  current  of  events,"  said 
the  Cardinal  "  But  an  Irish  bishop  of  my 
acquaintance  insists  that  we  have  already  had 
many  Irish  Popes,  without  knowing  it  Of 
all  the  greatest  Popes  he  cries,  c  Surely,  they 
must  have  had  Irish  blood.'  He's  perfectly 
convinced  that  Pius  the  Ninth  was  Irish.  His 
very  name,  his  family-name,  Ferretti,  was 
merely  the  Irish  name,  Farrity,  Italianised,  the 
good  bishop  says.  No  one  but  an  Irishman^ 
he  Insists,  could  have  been  so  witty ." 

Mrs.  O'Dono/an  Florence  looked  intensely 
thoughtful  for  a  moment.  .  .  .  Then, c<  I  *m 
trying  to  think  of  the  original  Irish  form  of 
Udeschini,"  she  declared. 

At  which  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

**  When  you  say  r  soon,'  Eminence,  do  you 
mean  that  we  may  hope  to  see  the  Italians 
driven  from  Rome  in  our  time  ? "  enquired 
Madame  de  Lafere. 

"They  are  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy  — 
for  their  sins,"  the  Cardinal  answered.  "  When 
the  krach  comes  —  and  it  can't  fail  to  come 
before  many  years— there  will  necessarily  be  * 
readjustment,  I  do  not  believe  that  the  COR- 
199 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff  Box 

science  of  Christendom  will  again  allow  Pete* 
to  be  deprived  of  his  inheritance/' 

<c  God  hasten  the  good  day,"  said  Monsignor 
Langshawe. 

*f  If  I  can  live  to  see  Rome  restored  to  the 
Pope,  I  shall  die  content,  even  though  I  can 
not  live  to  see  France  restored  to  the  King/' 
said  the  old  Frenchwoman. 

"  And  I  —  even  though  I  cannot  live  to 
see  Britain  restored  to  the  Faith,"  said  the 
Monsignore, 

The  Duchessa  smiled  at  Peter. 

"  What  a  hotbed  of  Ultramontanes  and  re- 
actionaries  you  have  fallen  into,"  she  murmured. 

"  It  is  exhilarating/'  said  he,  "  to  meet 
people  who  have  convictions/' 

"  Even  when  you  regard  their  convictions 
a?  erroneous  ?  "  she  asked 

<*  Yes,  even  then/'  he  answered,  "  But  I  "m 
not  sure  I  regard  as  erroneous  the  convictions 
I  have  heard  expressed  to-night/' 

«  Oh  —  ?  "  she  wondered.  "  Would  you 
like  to  see  Rome  restored  to  the  Pope?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "decidedly  —  for  aesthetic 
reasons,  if  for  no  others." 

"  I  suppose  there  are  aesthetic  reasons,"  she 

200 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

assented.     w  But  we,  of  course,  think  there  are 
conclusive  reasons  in  mere  justice." 

"  I  don't  doubt  there  are  conclusive  reasons 
in  mere  justice,  too,"  said  he. 

After  dinner,  at  the  Cardinal's  invitation,  the 
Duchessa  went  to  the  piano,  and  played  Bach 
and  Scarlatti.  Her  face,  in  the  soft  candle 
light,  as  she  discoursed  that  "  luminous,  lucid  " 
music,  Peter  thought  „  .  .  But  what  do  lovers 
always  think  of  their  ladies'  faces,  when  they 
Hook  up  trom  their  pianos,  :n  soft  candle- 
.light? 

Mrs,  Q'Donovan  Florence,  taking  her 
departure,  said  to  the  Cardinal,  "  I  owe  your 
Eminence  the  two  proudest  days  of  my  life., 
The  first  was  when  I  read  in  the  paper  that 
you  had  received  the  hat,  and  I  was  able  to 
boast  to  all  my  acquaintances  that  I  had  been 
m  the  convent  with  your  niece  by  marriage* 
And  the  second  is  now,  when  I  can  boast  for« 
evermore  hereafter  that  I've  enjoyed  the 
honour  of  making  my  courtesy  to  you/' 

w  So,"  said  Peter,  as  he  walked  home  through 
die  dew  and  the  starlight  of  the  park,  amid  the 
phantom  perfumes  of  the  night,  **  so  the  Car 
dinal  does  n't  approve  of  mixed  marriages  — 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

and,  of  course,  his  niece  does  n't,  either.  But 
what  can  it  matter  to  me  ?  For  alas  and  alaa 
—  as  he  truly  said  —  it  's  hardly  a  question  of 
actuality." 

And  he  lit  a  cigarette. 


909 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XX 

**  So  he  did  meet  her,  after  all  ? "  the  Duchessa 

said. 

<r  Yes,  he  met  her  in  the  ^nd,"  Peter  answered. 

They  were  seated  under  the  gay  white  awn 
ing,  against  the  bright  perspective  of  lawn,  lake, 
and  mountains,  on  the  terrace  at  Ventirose, 
where  Peter  was  paying  his  dinner-call.  The 
August  day  was  hot  and  still  and  beautiful  —  a 
day  made  of  gold  and  velvet  and  sweet  odours. 
The  Duchessa  lay  back  languidly,  among  the 
crisp  silk  cushions,  in  her  low,  lounging  chair; 
and  Peter,  as  he  looked  at  her,  told  himself 
that  he  must  be  cautious,  cautious. 

**  Yes,  he  met  her  in  the  end,0  he  said. 

«*  Well  —  ?  And  then—  ? "  she  questioned, 
with  a  show  of  eagerness,  smiling  into  his  eyes, 
"What  happened?  Did  she  come  up  to  his 
expectations  ?  Or  was  she  just  the  usual  dis 
appointment?  I  have  been  pining  —  oh,  but 
fining  —  to  hear  the  continuation  of  the  story." 
203 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

She  smiled  into  his  eyes,  and  his  heart  flut 
tered.  "  I  must  be  cautious/'  he  told  himself. 
w  In  more  ways  than  one,  this  is  a  crucial 
moment."  At  the  same  time,  as  a  very  part 
of  his  caution,  he  must  appear  entirely  non 
chalant  and  candid. 

"  Oh,  no  —  tutf  altro?  he  said,  with  an  as 
sumption  of  nonchalant  airiness  and  candid 
promptness,  "She  *  better  bettered1  his  ex 
pectations —  she  surpassed  his  fondest.  She 
was  a  thousand  times  more  delightful  than  he 
had  dreamed  —  though,  as  you  know,  he 
had  dreamed  a  good  deal.  Pauline  de  Fleu- 
vieres  turned  out  to  be  the  feeblest,  faintest 
echo  of  her," 

The  Duchessa  meditated  for  an  instant 

"It  seems  impossible.  It's  one  of  those 
situations  in  which  a  disenchantment  seems  the 
foregone  conclusion/*  she  said,  at  last. 

"  It  seems  so,  indeed/'  assented  Peter ; 
c*but  disenchantment,  there  was  none.  She 
was  all  that  he  had  imagined,  and  infinitely 
more.  She  was  the  substance  —  he  had  im 
agined  the  shadoWc  He  had  divined  her, 
as  it  were,  from  a  single  angle,  and  there 
were  many  angles,  Pauline  was  die  pale  re 
204 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

flection  of  one  side  of  her  —  a  pencil-sketch 

in  profile." 

The  Duchessa  shook  her  head,  marvelling, 
and  smiled  again. 

"  You  pile  wonder  upon  wonder,**  she  said. 
"  That  the  reality  should  excel  the  poet's  ideal ! 
That  the  cloud-capped  towers  which  looked 
splendid  from  afar,  with  all  the  glamour  of 
distance,  should  prove  to  be  more  splendid 
still,  on  close  inspection!  It's  dead  against 
the  accepted  theory  of  things.  And  that  any 
woman  should  be  nicer  than  that  adorable 
Pauline  1  You  tax  belief.  But  I  want  to  know 
what  happened.  Had  she  read  his  book  ?  " 

"  Nothing  happened,"  said  Peter.  "  I  warned 
you  that  it  was  a  drama  without  action.  A 
good  deal  happened,  no  doubt,  in  Wildmay's 
secret  soul.  But  externally,  nothing.  They 
simply  chatted  together  —  exchanged  the  time 
o'  day  —  like  any  pair  of  acquaintances.  No, 
I  don't  think  she  had  read  his  book.  She  did 
read  it  afterwards,  though." 

"And  liked  it?" 

«  Yes  —  she  said  she  liked  it." 

«  Well  —  ?  But  then  —  ?  "  the  Duchessa 
pressed  him,  insistently,  "  When  she  dis- 
205 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

covered  the  part  she  had  had  in  its  com 
position  — -  ?  Was  n't  she  overwhelmed  ? 
Was  n't  she  immensely  interested  —  surprised 

—  moved  ? " 

She  leaned  forward  a  little.  Her  eyes  were 
shining.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted,  so 
that  between  their  warm  rosiness  Peter  could 
see  the  exquisite  white  line  of  her  teeth.  His 
heart  fluttered  again.  "  I  must  be  cautious, 
cautious,"  he  remembered,  and  made  a  strenu 
ous  "  act  of  will  "  to  steady  himself. 

"  Oh,  she  never  discovered  that,"  he  said. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  Duchessa.  Her 
face  fell.  Her  eyes  darkened  —  with  dismay, 
with  incomprehension.  "  Do  you  —  you  don't 

—  mean    to   say   that   he   didn't   tell    her?" 
There  was  reluctance  to  believe,  there  was  a 
conditional   implication   of  deep  reproach,  in 
her  voice. 

Peter  had  to  repeat  his  act  of  will. 

"  How  could  he  tell  her  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  frowned  at  him,  with  reproach  that  was 
explicit  now,  and  a  kind  of  pained  astonish 
ment, 

"  How  could  he  help  telling  her  ? "  she  cried. 
"  But  —  but  it  was  the  one  great  fact  between 
206 


The  Cardinal's  Sauff-Bo* 

them.  But  it  was  a  fact  that  intimately  con 
cerned  her  —  it  was  a  fact  of  her  own  destiny, 
But  it  was  her  right  to  be  told.  Do  you  seri 
ously  mean  that  he  did  n't  tell  her  ?  But  why 
did  n't  he  ?  What  could  have  possessed  him  ?  " 

There  was  something  like  a  tremor  in  her 
voice.  <c  I  must  appear  entirely  nonchalant 
and  candid,"  Peter  remembered. 

"  I  fancy  he  was  possessed,  in  some  meas 
ure,  by  a  sense  of  the  liberty  he  had  taken  — - 
by  a  sense  of  what  one  might,  perhaps,  venture 
to  qualify  as  his  *  cheek/  For,  if  it  was  n't  al 
ready  a  liberty  to  embody  his  notion  of  her  in 
a  novel  —  in  a  published  book,  for  daws  to 
peck  at  —  it  would  have  become  a  liberty  the 
moment  he  informed  her  that  he  had  done  so. 
That  would  have  had  the  effect  of  making  her 
a  kind  of  involuntary  farticeps  criminis" 

"  Oh,  the  foolish  man ! "  sighed  the  Duchessa, 
with  a  rueful  shake  of  the  head,  "  His  foolish 
British  self-consciousness !  His  British  ina 
bility  to  put  himself  in  another  person's  place, 
to  see  things  from  another's  point  of  view ! 
Could  n't  he  see,  from  her  point  of  view,  from 
any  point  of  view  but  his  own,  that  it  was  her 
right  to  be  told?  That  the  matter  affected 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

her  in  one  way,  as  much  as  it  affected  him  m 
another?  That  since  she  had  influenced  — 
since  she  had  contributed  to  —  his  life  and  his 
art  as  she  had,  it  was  her  right  to  know  it? 
Couldn't  he  see  that  his  *  cheek,'  his  real 
*  cheek/  began  when  he  withheld  from  her 
that  great  strange  chapter  of  her  own  history  ? 
Oh,  he  ought  to  have  told  her,  he  ought  to 
have  told  her." 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair,  giving  her  head 
another  rueful  shake,  and  gazed  ruefully  away, 
over  the  sunny  landscape,  through  the  mellow 
atmosphere,  into  the  golden-hazy  distance, 

Peter  looked  at  her  —  and  then,  quickly,  foi 
caution's  sake,  looked  elsewhere 

"  But  there  were  other  things  to  oe  taken 
into  account,"  he  said. 

The  Duchessa  raised  her  eyesc  *  What 
other  things?"  they  gravely  questioned, 

w  Would  n't  his  telling  her  have  been  equiv 
alent  to  a  declaration  of  love  ?  "  questioned  he, 
looking  at  the  signet-ring  on  the  little  finger 
of  his  left  hand. 

**  A  declaration  of  love  ? "  She  considered 
for  a  moment.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  in  t  way  it 
would,"  she  acknowledged.  w  But  even  so  ? '" 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff  Box 

she  asked,  after  another  moment  of  considers 
tion,  <c  Why  should  he  not  have  made  her  a 
declaration  of  love?  He  was  ;.n  love  with  her, 
was  n't  he  ?  " 

The  point  of  frank  interrogation  in  her  eyes 
showed  clearly,  showed  cruelly,  how  detached, 
how  impersonal,  her  interest  was, 

c<  Frantically/'  said  Peter.  For  caution's 
sake,  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  golden-hazy 
peaks  of  Monte  Sfiorito,  c<  He  had  been  hi 
love  with  her,  in  a  fashion,  of  course,  from  the 
beginning.  But  after  he  met  her,  he  fell  in 
love  with  her  anew,  His  mind,  his  imagina 
tion,  had  been  in  love  with  its  conception  of 
hen  But  now  he9  the  man,  loved  her,  the 
woman  herself,  frantically,  with  just  a  down 
right  common  human  love.  There  were  cir 
cumstances,  however,  which  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  tell  her  so/' 

"What  circumstances?*'  There  was  the 
same  frank  look  of  interrogation.  w  Do  you 
mean  that  she  was  married?" 

"  No,  not  that  By  the  mercy  of  heaven/* 
he  pronounced*  with  energy,  "  she  was  a 
widow/* 

The  Duchessa  broke  into  an  amused  taugk, 

«4  209 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

**  Permit  me  to  admire  your  piety,"  she 
said. 

And  Peter,  as  his  somewhat  outrageous 
ejaculation  came  back  to  him>  laughed  vaguely 
too. 

"But  then  —  ?"  she  went  on.  "What 
else  ?  By  the  mercy  of  heaven,  she  was  a 
widow.  What  other  circumstance  could  have 
tied  his  tongue  ?  " 

"Oh,"  he  answered,  a  trifle  uneasily,  "  a 
multitude  of  circumstances.  Pretty  nearly 
every  conventional  barrier  the  world  has  in 
vented,  existed  between  him  and  her.  She 
was  a  frightful  swell,  for  one  thing." 

"A  frightful  swell  —  ?"  The  Duchessa 
raised  her  eyebrows. 

<f  Yes,"  said  Peter,  "  at  a  vertiginous  height 
above  him  —  horribly  c  aloft  and  lone  '  in  the 
social  hierarchy."  He  tried  to  smile. 

"  What  could  that  matter  ?  "  the  Duchessa 
objected  simply,  *'  Mr,  Wildmay  is  a  gentle- 


man/* 


**  How  do  you  know  he  is  ? "  Peter  asked, 
thinking  to  create  a  diversion, 

**'  Of  course,  he  is.  He  must  be.  No  one 
but  a  gentleman  could  have  had  such  an  expert 


320 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

ence,  could  have  written  such  a  book.  And 
besides,  he 's  a  friend  of  yours.  Of  course 
he  's  a  gentleman,"  returned  the  adroit 
Duchessa. 

"  But  there  are  degrees  of  gentleness,  I  be 
lieve,"  said  Peter.  "  She  was  at  the  topmost 
top.  He  —  well,  at  all  events,  he  knew  his 
place.  He  had  too  much  humour,  too  just  a 
sense  of  proportion,  to  contemplate  offering 
her  his  hand." 

"A  gentleman  can  offer  his  hand  to  any 
woman  —  under  royalty,"  said  the  Duchessa. 

"He  can,  to  be  sure  —  and  he  can  also  see 
it  declined  with  thanks,"  Peter  answered. 
"  But  it  was  n't  merely  her  rank.  She  was 
horribly  rich,  besides.  And  then  —  and 
then  — !  There  were  ten  thousand  other 
impediments.  But  the  chief  of  them  all,  I 
daresay,  was  Wildmay's  fear  lest  an  avowal  of 
his  attachment  should  lead  to  his  exile  from 
her  presence  —  and  he  naturally  did  not  wish 
to  be  exiled." 

"  Faint  heart ! "  the  Duchessa  said.  "  He 
ought  to  have  told  her.  The  case  was  pecu 
liar,  was  unique.  Ordinary  rules  couldn't 
apply  to  it.  And  how  could  he  be  sure,  after 

211 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff- Box 

all,  that  she  would  njt  have  despised  the  con- 
ventional  barriers,  as  you  call  them  ?  Every 
man  gets  the  wife  he  deserves  —  and  certainly 
he  had  gone  a  long  way  towards  deserving  her. 
She  could  n't  have  felt  quite  indifferent  to  him 
—  if  he  had  told  her ;  quite  indifferent  to  the 
man  who  had  drawn  that  magnificent  Pauline 
from  his  vision  of  her.  No  woman  could  be 
entirely  proof  against  a  compliment  like  that. 
And  I  insist  that  it  was  her  right  to  know. 
He  should  simply  have  told  her  the  story  of 
his  book  and  of  her  part  in  it.  She  would 
have  inferred  the  rest.  He  need  n  I  have 
mentioned  love — the  word." 

"  Well,"  said  Peter,  "  it  is  not  always  too 
late  to  mend.  He  may  tell  her  some  fine  day 
yet." 

And  in  his  soul  two  voices  were  contending. 
"Tell  her  — tell  her  — tell  her !  Tell  her 
now,  at  once,  and  abide  your  chances,"  urged 
one.  "  No  —  no  —  no  —  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  protested  the  second.  "  She  is  arguing 
the  point  for  its  abstract  interest,  She  is  a 
hundred  miles  from  dreaming  that  you  are  the 
man  —  hundreds  of  miles  from  dreaming  that 
she  is  the  woman.  If  she  had  the  least  sus- 
•is 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

picion  of  that,  she  would  sing  z  song  as  different 
as  may  be.     Caution,  caution/' 

He  looked  at  her  —  warm  and  fragrant  and 
radiant,  in  her  soft,  white  gown,  in  her  low 
lounging-chair,  so  near,  so  near  to  him  —  he 
looked  at  her  glowing  eyes,  her  red  lips,  her 
rich  brown  hair,  at  the  white-and-rose  of  her 
skin,  at  the  delicate  blue  veins  in  her  forehead, 
at  her  fine  white  handss  clasped  loosely  to 
gether  in  her  lap,  at  the  flowing  lines  of  her 
figure,  with  its  supple  grace  and  strength;  and 
behind  her,  surrounding  her,  accessory  to  her, 
he  was  conscious  of  the  golden  August  world, 
in  the  golden  August  weather — of  the  green 
park,  and  the  pure  sunshine,  and  the  sweet,  still 
air,  of  the  blue  lake,  and  the  blue  sky,  and  the 
mountains  with  their  dark-blue  shadows,  of  the 
long  marble  terrace,  and  the  gleaming  marble 
fa9ade  of  the  house,  and  the  marble  balustrade, 
with  the  jessamine  twining  round  its  columns^ 
The  picture  was  very  beautiful  —  but  something 
was  wanting  to  perfect  its  beauty;  and  the 
name  of  the  something  that  was  wanting  sang 
itself  in  poignant  iteration  to  the  beating  of  his 
pulses/  And  he  longed  and  longed  to  tel!  her  ; 
and  he  dared  not  s  and  he  hesitated  «  ,  ,. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

And  while  he  was  hesitating,  the  pounding 
of  hoofs  and  the  grinding  of  carriage-wheels  on 
gravel  reached  his  ears  —  and  so  the  situation 
was  saved,  or  the  opportunity  lost,  as  you 
choose  to  think  \t.  For  next  minute  a  servant 
appeared  on  the  terrace,  and  announced  Mrs. 
O' Donovan  Florence* 

And  shortly  after  that  lady's  arrival,  Petei 
*ook  hi*  5 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXI 

«WELL,  Trixie,  and  is  one  to  congratulate 
you?"  asked  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence. 

"Congratulate  me  —  ?  On  what?"  asked 
Beatrice. 

"  On  what,  indeed ! "  cried  the  vivacious 
Irishwoman.  "Don't  try  to  pull  the  wool 
over  the  eyes  of  an  old  campaigner  like  me." 

Beatrice  looked  blank. 

"  I  can't  in  the  least  think  what  you  mean," 
she  said. 

"  Get  along  with  you,"  cried  Mrs.  O'Dono 
van  Florence ;  and  she  brandished  her  sunshade 
threateningly.  "  On  your  engagement  to  Mr. 
—  what's  this  his  name  is?  —  to  be  sure." 

She  glanced  indicatively  down  the  lawn,  in 
the  direction  of  Peter's  retreating  tweeds. 

Beatrice  had  looked  blank.  But  now  she 
looked  —  first,  perhaps,  for  a  tiny  fraction  of  a 
second,  startled  —  then  gently,  compassionately 
ironical. 


The  Cardinal's  S  miff-  Box 


poor  Kate!  Are  you  out  of  your 
senses?  "  she  enquired,  in  accents  of  concern* 
nodding  her  head,  with  a  feint  of  pensive  pity, 

"Not  I,"  returned  Mrs*  O'Donovan  Flor 
ence,  cheerfully  confident  «  But  I  'm  think 
ing  I  could  lay  my  finger  on  a  long-limbed 
young  Englishman  less  than  a  mile  from  here, 
who  very  nearly  is.  Hasn't  he  asked  you 
yet?" 

c*  E*-tu  bit*  ?  "  Beatrice  murmured,  pitifully 
nodding  again, 

"  Ah,  well,  if  he  has  n't,  it  "s  merely  a  ques 
tion  of  time  when  he  will/'  said  Mrs,  O*  Don 
ovan.  Florence  <r  You  "ve  only  to  notice  the 
famished  gaze  with  which  he  devours  you,  to 
see  his  condition.  But  don't  try  to  hoodwink 
mt.  Don't  pretend  that  this  is  news  to  you," 

"  News  !  "  scoffed  Beatrice.  "  It  's  news  and 
nonsense  —  the  product  of  yout  irrepressible 
imagination,  Mr,  What  Vthis-his-name-is,  as 
you  call  him,  and  I  are  the  barest  acquaintances. 
He  's  our  temporary  neighbour  —  the  tenant 
for  the  season  of  Villa  Floriano  —  the  house 
you  can  catch  a  glimpse  of,  below  there,  through 
the  trees,  on  the  other  side  of  the  rivet/" 

«!•  he,  ROW,  really?     Aid  thtf't 
•i* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

interesting  too.  But  I  wasn't  denying  it." 
Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence  smiled,  with  deri 
sive  sweetness.  "The  fact  of  his  being  the 
tenant  of  the  house  I  can  catch  a  glimpse  of, 
through  the  trees,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  though  a  valuable  acquisition  to  my 
stores  of  knowledge,  does  n't  explain  away  his 
famished  glance  —  unless,  indeed,  he's  behind 
with  the  rent :  but  even  then,  it 's  not  famished 
he  'd  look,  but  merely  anxious  and  persuasive. 
I  'm  a  landlord  myself.  No,  Trixie,  dear, 
you  Ve  made  roast  meat  of  the  poor  fellow's 
heart,  as  the  poetical  Persians  express  it ;  and 
if  he  has  n't  told  you  so  yet  with  his  tongue, 
he  tells  the  whole  world  so  with  his  eyes  as 
often  as  he  allows  them  to  rest  on  their  load 
stone,  your  face.  You  can  see  the  sparks  and 
the  smoke  escaping  from  them,  as  though  they 
were  chimneys.  If  you  Ve  not  observed  that 
for  yourself,  it  can  only  be  that  excessive  mod 
esty  has  rendered  you  blind.  The  man  is  head 
over  ears  in  love  with  you.  Nonsense  or 
bonsense,  that  is  the  sober  truth." 

Beatrice  laughed. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  destroy  a  romance,  Kate," 
she  said ;  "  but  alas  for  the  pretty  one  you  Ve 
217 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

I  happen  to  know  that,  so  far  from 
being  in  love  with  me>  Mr*  Marchdale  is  quite 
desperately  in  love  with  another  woman.  He 
was  talking  to  me  about  her  the  moment  before 
you  arrived/' 

"Was  he,  indeed?  —  and  you  the  barest 
acquaintances!"  quizzed  Mrs.  O'Donovan 
Florence,  pulling  a  face,  "Well,  well,"  shfc 
went  on  thoughtfully,  "if  he's  in  love  with 
another  woman,  that  settles  my  last  remaining 
doubt  It  can  only  be  that  the  other  woman  '$ 
yourself." 

Beatrice  shook  her  head,  and  laughed  again, 

"  Is  that  what  they  call  an  Irishism  ? "  she 
asked,  with  polite  curiosity. 

w  And  an  Irishism  is  a  very  good  thing,  too 
—  when  employed  with  intention,"  retorted  her 
friend.  "  Did  he  just  chance,  now,  in  a  casual 
way,  to  mention  the  other  woman's  name,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  perverse  and  stiff-necked  genera 
tion  1 "  Beatrice  laughed.  "  What  can  his 
mentioning  or  not  mentioning  her  name  sig 
nify?  For  since  he's  in  love  with  her,  it's 
hardly  likely  that  he 's  in  love  with  you  or  me 
at  the  same  time,  is  it  ?  " 
•if 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

w  That 's  as  may  be.     But  I  '11  wager  I  could 
make  a  shrewd   guess   at   her   name   myself. 
And   what  else  did   he  tell  you  about   her? 
He's  told  me   nothing;    but   I'll   warrant  I 
could  paint  her  portrait.     She 's  a  fine  figure 
of  a  young  Englishwoman,  brown-haired,  grey  - 
eyed,  and  she  stands  about  five-feet-eight  in 
her   shoes.     There's   an  expression  of  great 
malice  and  humour  in  her  physiognomy,  and  a 
kind  of  devil-may-care  haughtiness  in  the  poise 
of  her  head-     She 's  a  bit  of  ngrande  dame,  into 
the  bargain —  something  like  an  Anglo-Italian 
duchess,  for  example  ;  she  "s  monstrously  rich  ; 
and  she  adds,  you  '11  be  surprised  to  learn,  to 
her  other  fascinations  that  of  being  a  widow0 
Faith,  the  men  are  so  fond  of  widows,  it  *s  a 
marvel  to  me  that  we  're  ever  married  at  all 
until  we  reach  that  condition ;  —  and  there,  if 
you  like,  is  another  Irishism   for  you.     But 
what 's  this  ?     Methinks  a  rosy  blush  mantles 
my  lady's  brow.     Have  I  touched  the  heel  of 
Achilles  ?     She  is  a  widow  ?     He  told  you  she 
was  a  widow?  .  .  .     But  — bless  us  and  save 
us!  — what's  come  to  you  now?     You're  as 
white  as  a  sheet.     What  is  it  ? " 

«  Good  heavens  ! "  gasped  Beatrice.    She  lay 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

back  in  her  chair,  and  stared  with  horrified 
eyes  into  space,  "  Good  —  good  heavens ! " 

Mrs.  O' Donovan  Florence  leaned  forward 
and  took  her  hand. 

"What  is  it,  my  dear?  What's  come  to 
you  ? "  she  asked,  in  alarm. 

Beatrice  gave  a  kind  of  groan. 

"It's  absurd  —  it's  impossible,"  she  said; 
"and  yet,  if  by  any  ridiculous  chance  you 
should  be  right,  it's  too  horribly  horrible." 
She  repeated  her  groan.  "  If  by  any  ridiculous 
chance  you  are  right,  the  man  will  think  that  I 
have  been  leading  him  on ! " 

"  Leading  him  on  !  "  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Flor 
ence  suppressed  a  shriek  of  ecstatic  mirth. 
"  There 's  no  question  about  my  being  right," 
she  averred  soberly.  "He  wears  his  heart 
behind  his  eyeglass ;  and  whoso  runs  may  read 
it" 

"Well,  then  — >f  began  Beatrice,  with  an 
air  of  desperation  ..."  But  no,"  she  broke 
off,  "You  can't  be  right.  It's  impossible, 
impossible.  Wait  I  '11  tell  you  the  whole 
story.  You  shall  see  for  yourself." 

**  Go  on/' said  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence, 
assuming  an  attitude  of  devout  attention,  which 


The  Cardinal's  8nuff-Bo)€ 

she  retained  while  Beatrice  (not  without  certain 
starts  and  hesitations)  recounted  the  fond  tale 
of  Peter's  novel,  and  of  the  woman  who  had 
suggested  the  character  of  Pauline. 

"But  of  course!"  cried  the  Irishwoman, 
when  the  tale  was  finished  ;  and  this  time  her 
shriek  of  mirth,  of  glee,  was  not  suppressed. 
*cOf  course  —  you  miracle  of  unsuspecting 
innocence!  The  man  would  never  have 
breathed  a  whisper  of  the  affair  to  any  soul 
alive,  save  to  his  heroine  herself —  let  alone  to 
you>  if  you  and  she  were  not  the  same.  Couple 
that  with  the  eyes  he  makes  at  you,  and  you  Ve 
got  assurance  twice  assured.  You  ought  to 
have  guessed  it  from  the  first  syllable  he  uttered. 
And  when  he  went  on  about  her  exalted  station 
and  her  fabulous  wealth!  Oh,  my  ingenue! 
Oh,  my  guileless  lambkin  I  And  you  Trixie 
Belfont !  Where 's  your  famous  wit  ?  Where 
are  your  famous  intuitions  ?  " 

" But  don't  you  see"  wailed  Beatrice,  " don't 
you  see  the  utterly  odious  position  this  leaves 
me  in?  I  Ve  been  urging  him  with  all  my 
might  to  tell  her !  I  said  ...  oh,  the 
things  I  said  ! "  She  shuddered  visibly.  "  I 
said  that  differences  of  rank  and  fortune 


221 


Tht  Cardinal's  Snuff  Bo* 

couldn't  matter/9  She  gave  a  melancholy 
laugh.  "  I  said  that  very  likely  she  "d  accept 
him.  I  said  she  could  n't  help  being  .  .  . 
Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  He'll  think  —  of 
course,  he  can't  help  thinking  —  that  I  was 
encouraging  him  — -  that  I  was  coming  half 
way  to  meet  him." 

<r  Hush,  hush  !  It 's  not  so  bad  as  that/'  said 
Mrs.  O' Donovan  Florence,  soothingly*  "  For 
surely,  as  I  understand  it,  the  man  doesn't 
dream  that  you  knew  it  was  about  himself  he 
was  speaking.  He  always  talked  of  the  book 
as  by  a  friend  of  his ;  and  you  never  let  him 
suspect  that  you  had  pierced  his  subterfuge." 

Beatrice  frowned  for  an  instant,  putting  this 
consideration  m  its  place,  in  her  troubled  mind. 
Then  suddenly  a  light  of  intense,  of  immense 
relief  broke  in  her  face. 

«  Thank  goodness ! "  she  sighed.  "  I  had 
forgotten.  No,  he  does  n't  dream  that  But 
oh,  the  fright  I  had!" 

"He'll  tell  you,  all  the  same/'  said  Mrs. 
O'Donovan  Florence. 

"  No,  he  '11  never  tell  me  now.  I  am  fore 
warned,  forearmed.  I  '11  give  him  no  chance," 
Beatrice  answered. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Yes ;    and    what 's    more,   you  '11    marry 
him/'  said  her  friend. 

"  Kate !       Don't   descend    to    imbecilities/* 
cried  Beatrice. 

"  You  $11  marry  him/'  reiterated  Mrs. 
O'Donovan  Florence,  calmly.  "  You  '11  end 
by  marrying  him  —  if  you  're  human  ;  and 
I  Ve  seldom  known  a  human  being  who  was 
more  so.  It 's  not  in  flesh  and  blood  to 
remain  unmoved  by  a  tribute  such  as  that  man 
has  paid  you.  The  first  thing  you  '11  do  will 
be  to  re-read  the  novel.  Otherwise,  I'd  re 
quest  the  loan  of  it  myself,  for  I  'm  naturally 
curious  to  compare  the  wrought  ring  with  the 
virgin  gold  —  but  I  know  it 's  the  wrought  ring 
the  virgin  gold  will  itself  be  wanting,  directly 
it 's  alone.  And  then  the  poison  will  work. 
And  you  '11  end  by  marrying  him." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  replied  Beatrice,  firmly, 
"  I  shall  never  marry  any  one.  That  is  abso 
lutely  certain.  In  the  next  place,  I  shall  not 
re-read  the  novel ;  and  to  prove  that  I  shan't, 
I  shall  insist  on  your  taking  it  with  you  when 
you  leave  to-day.  And  finally,  I  'm  nowhere 
near  convinced  that  you're  right  about  my 
being  .  ,  .  well,  you  might  as  well  say  the 
223 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

raw  material,  the  rough  ore,  as  the  virgin  gold. 
It's  only  a  bare  possibility.  But  even  the 
possibility  had  not  occurred  to  me  before. 
Now  that  it  has,  I  shall  be  on  my  guard. 
I  shall  know  how  to  prevent  any  possible 
developments." 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Mrs.  O'Donovan 
Florence,  with  equal  firmness,  "  wild  horses 
could  n't  induce  me  to  take  the  novel.  Wait 
till  you  're  alone.  A  hundred  questions  about 
it  will  come  flocking  to  your  mind ;  you  'd  be 
miserable  if  you  had  n't  it  to  refer  to.  In  the 
next  place,  the  poison  will  work  and  work. 
Say  what  you  will,  it's  flattery  that  wins  us. 
In  the  third  place,  he'll  tell  you  Finallv, 
you  '11  make  a  good  Catholic  of  him,  and  marry 
him.  It's  absurd,  it's  iniquitous,  anyhow,  for 
a  young  and  beautiful  woman  like  you  to 
remain  a  widow.  And  your  future  husband  is 
a  man  of  talent  and  distinction,  and  he  's  not 
bad-looking,  either.  Will  you  stick  to  your 
title,  now,  I  wonder?  Or  will  you  step  down, 
and  be  plain  Mrs.  Marchdale?  No  —  the 
Honourable  Mrs.  —  excuse  me  —  c  Mr.  and 
the  Honourable  Mrs.  Marchdale.*  I  see  you 
in  the  Morning  Post  already.  And  will  you 


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continue  to  live  in  Italy  ?     Or  will  you  coma, 
back  to  England?" 

"Oh,  my  good  Kate,  my  sweet  Kate,  my 
incorrigible  Kate,  what  an  extravagantly  silly 
Kate  you  can  be  when  the  mood  takes  you," 
Beatrice  laughed. 

"  Kate  me  as  many  Kates  as  you  like,  the 
man  is  really  not  bad-looking.     He  has  a  nice 
lithe  springy  figure,  and   a  clean  complexion, 
and  an  open  brow.     And  if  there 's  a  sugges 
tion  of  superciliousness  in  the  tilt  of  his  nose, 
of  scepticism  in  the  twirl  of  his  moustaches, 
and  of  obstinacy  in  the  squareness  of  his  chin 
—  ma  foi,  you  must  take  the  bitter  with   the 
sweet.     Besides,  he  has  decent  hair,  and  plenty 
of  it  — he'll   not  go  bald.     And   he  dresses 
well,  and  wears  his  clothes  with  an  air.     In 
short,  you'll  make  a  very  handsome  couple. 
Anyhow,  when  your  family  are  gathered  round 
the  evening  lamp  to-night,  I  '11  stake  my  for 
tune  on  it,  but  I  can  foretell  the  name  of  the 
book    they'll    find    Trixie    Belfont   reading," 
laughed  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence. 

For  a  few  minutes,  after  her  friend  had  left 
her,  Beatrice  sat  still,  her  head  resting  on  her 
XS  225 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

hand,  and  gazed  with  fixed  eyes  at  Monte 
Sfiorito.  Then  she  rose,  and  walked  briskly 
backwards  and  forwards,  for  a  while,  up  and 
down  the  terrace.  Presently  she  came  to  a 
standstill,  and  leaning  on  the  balustrade,  while 
one  of  her  feet  kept  lightly  tapping  the  pave 
ment,  looked  off  again  towards  the  mountain. 

The  prospect  was  well  worth  her  attention, 
with  its  blue  and  green  and  gold,  its  wood  and 
water,  its  misty-blushing  snows,  its  spacious 
ness  and  its  atmosphere.  In  the  sky  a  million 
fluffy  little  cloudlets  floated  like  a  flock  of 
fantastic  birds,  with  mother-of-pearl  tinted 
plumage.  The  shadows  were  lengthening 
now.  The  sunshine  glanced  from  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  lake  as  from  burnished  metal, 
and  falling  on  the  coloured  sails  of  the  fishing- 
boats,  made  them  gleam  like  sails  of  crimson 
silk.  But  I  wonder  how  much  of  this  Bea 
trice  really  saw. 

She  plucked  an  oleander  from  one  of  the 
tall  marble  urns  set  along  the  balustrade,  and 
pressed  the  pink  blossom  against  her  face,  and, 
closing  her  eyes,  breathed  in  its  perfume  ;  then, 
absent-minded,  she  let  it  drop,  over  the  terrace, 

upon  the  path  below. 

226 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  It's  impossible/'  she  said  suddenly,  aloud. 

At  last  she  went  into  the  house,  and  up  to 
her  rose-and-white  retiring-room.  There  she 
took  a  book  from  the  table,  and  sank  into  a 
deep  easy-chair,  and  began  to  turn  the  pages. 

But  when,  by  and  by,  approaching  footsteps 
became  audible  in  the  stone-floored  corridor 
without,  Beatrice  hastily  shut  the  book,  thrust 
it  back  upon  the  table,  and  caught  up  another : 
so  that  Emilia  Manfredi,  entering,  found  her 
reading  Monsieur  Anatole  France's  cc  Etui  de 


nacre." 


"  Emilia,"  she  said,  cc  I  wish  you  would 
translate  the  c  Jongleur  de  Notre  Dame*  into 
Italian." 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXII 

PETER,   we   may    suppose,  returned   to  Villa 

Floriano    that   afternoon    in   a   state  of  some 

excitement. 

"  He  ought  to  have  told  her  —  " 

Cl  It  was  her  right  to  be  told  —  " 

<c  What  could  her  rank  matter  —  " 

"A  gentleman   can    offer  his   hand  to  any 

woman  —  " 

"  She  would  have  despised  the  conventional 

barriers  —  " 

"  No  woman  could  be  proof  against  such  a 

compliment  —  " 

"The  case  was  peculiar  —  ordinary  rules 
could  not  apply  to  it  — " 

"  Every  man  gets  the  wife  he  deserves  — 
and  he  had  certainly  gone  a  long  way  towards 
deserving  her  —  " 

"  He  should  simply  have  told  her  the  story 
of  his  book  and  of  her  part  in  it  —  he  need  n't 
have  mentioned  love — she  would  have  under 
stood  —  " 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

The  Duchessa's  voice,  clear  and  cool  and 
crisp-cut,  sounded  perpetually  in  his  ears ;  the 
words  she  had  spoken,  the  arguments  she  had 
urged,  repeated  and  repeated  themselves,  danced 
round  and  round,  in  his  memory. 

"  Ought  I  to  have  told  her  —  then  and 
there  ?  Shall  I  go  to  her  and  tell  her  to 
morrow  ? " 

He  tried  to  think  ;  but  he  could  not  think. 
His  faculties  were  in  a  whirl  —  he  could  by  no 
means  command  them.  He  could  only  wait, 
inert,  while  the  dance  went  on.  It  was  an  ex 
tremely  riotous  dance  The  Duchessa's  con 
versation  was  reproduced  without  sequence, 
without  coherence  —  scattered  fragments  of  it 
were  flashed  before  him  fitfully,  in  swift  dis 
order.  If  he  would  attempt  to  seize  upon  one 
of  those  fragments,  to  detain  and  fix  it,  for 
consideration  —  a  speech  of  hers,  a  look,  an 
inflection  —  then  the  whole  experience  sud 
denly  lost  its  outlines,  his  recollection  of  it 
became  a  jumble,  and  he  was  left,  as  it  were, 
intellectually  gasping. 

He  walked  about  his  garden,  he  went  into 
the  house,  he  came  out,  he  walked  about 
again,  he  went  in  and  dressed  for  dinner,  he 
229 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

sat  on  his  rustic  bench,  he  smoked  cigarette 
after  cigarette. 

"Ought  I  to  have  told  her?  Ought  I  to 
tell  her  to-morrow  ?  " 

At  moments  there  would  come  a  lull  in  the 
turmoil,  an  interval  of  quiet,  of  apparent  clear 
ness  ;  and  the  answer  would  seem  perfectly 
plain. 

"  Of  course,  you  ought  to  tell  her.  Tell  her 
—  and  all  will  be  well.  She  has  put  herself  in 
the  supposititious  woman's  place,  and  she  says, 
c  He  ought  to  tell  her.'  She  says  it  earnestly, 
vehemently.  That  means  that  if  she  were  the 
woman,  she  would  wish  to  be  told.  She  will 
despise  the  conventional  barriers  —  she  will  be 
touched,  she  will  be  moved.  c  No  woman  could 
be  proof  against  such  a  compliment/  Go  to  her 
to-morrow,  and  tell  her  —  and  all  will  be  well." 

At  these  moments  he  would  look  up  towards 
the  castle,  and  picture  the  morrow's  consumma 
tion  ;  and  his  heart  would  have  a  convulsion. 
Imagination  flew  on  the  wings  of  his  desire. 
She  stood  before  him  in  all  her  sumptuous 
womanhood,  tender  and  strong  and  glowing. 
As  he  spoke,  her  eyes  lightened,  her  eyes 
burned;  the  blood  came  and  went  in  her 


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cheeks  ;  her  lips  parted.  Then  she  whispered 
something;  and  his  heart  leapt  terribly;  and 
he  called  her  name — "Beatrice!  Beatrice!" 
Her  name  expressed  the  inexpressible  —  the 
adoring  passion,  the  wild  hunger  and  wild  tri 
umph  of  his  soul.  But  now  she  was  moving 
towards  him  —  she  was  holding  out  her  hands. 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms  —  he  held  her 
yielding  body  in  his  arms.  And  his  heart 
leapt  terribly,  terribly.  And  he  wondered  how 
he  could  endure,  how  he  could  live  through, 
the  hateful  hours  that  must  elapse  before  to 
morrow  would  be  to-day. 

But  "  hearts,  after  leaps,  ache."  Presently 
the  whirl  would  begin  again  ;  and  then,  by  and 
by,  in  another  lull,  a  contrary  answer  would 
seem  equally  plain. 

"  Tell  her,  indeed  ?  My  dear  man,  are  you 
mad?  She  would  simply  be  amazed,  struck 
dumb,  by  your  presumption.  I  can  see  from 
here  her  incredulity  —  I  can  see  the  scorn  with 
which  she  would  wither  you.  It  has  never 
dimly  occurred  to  her  as  conceivable  that  you 
would  venture  to  be  in  love  with  her,  that  you 
would  dare  to  lift  your  eyes  to  her  —  you  who 
are  nothing,  to  her  who  is  all.  Yes  —  nothing, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

nobody.  In  her  view,  you  are  just  a  harmless 
nobody,  whose  society  she  tolerates  for  kind 
ness*  sake  —  and  faute  de  mieux.  It  is  pre 
cisely  because  she  deems  you  a  nobody  — 
because  she  is  profoundly  conscious  of  the 
gulf  that  separates  you  from  her  —  that  she 
can  condescend  to  be  amiably  familiar.  If  you 
were  of  a  rank  even  remotely  approximating 
to  her  own,  she  would  be  a  thousand  times 
more  circumspect.  Remember  —  she  does  not 
dream  that  you  are  Felix  Wildmay.  He  is  a 
mere  name  to  her ;  and  his  story  is  an  amus 
ing  little  romance,  perfectly  external  to  herself, 
which  she  discusses  with  entirely  impersonal 
interest.  Tell  her  by  all  means,  if  you  like 
Say, c  I  am  Wildmay  —  you  are  Pauline/  And 
see  how  amazed  she  will  be,  and  how  incensed, 
and  how  indignant." 

Then  he  would  look  up  at  the  castle  stonily, 
in  a  mood  of  desperate  renunciation,  and 
vaguely  meditate  packing  his  belongings,  and 
going  home  to  England. 

At   other    moments   a  third    answer  would 
seem  the  plain  one :  something  between  these 
extremes   of  optimism  and  pessimism,  a  com' 
promise,  if  not  a  reconciliation- 
23* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

<c  Come !  Let  us  be  calm,  let  us  be  judicial 
The  consequences  of  our  actions,  here  below, 
if  hardly  ever  so  good  as  we  could  hope,  are 
hardly  ever  so  bad  as  we  might  fear.  Let  us  re 
gard  this  matter  in  the  light  of  that  guiding 
principle.  True,  she  does  n't  dream  that  you 
are  Wildmay.  True,  if  you  were  abruptly  to 
say  to  her,  *I  am  Wildmay  —  you  are  the 
woman,'  she  would  be  astonished  —  even,  if 
you  will,  at  first,  more  or  less  taken  aback,  dis 
concerted.  But  indignant  ?  Why  ?  What  is 
this  gulf  that  separates  you  from  her  ?  What 
are  these  conventional  barriers  of  which  you 
make  so  much  ?  She  is  a  duchess,  she  is  the 
daughter  of  a  lord,  and  she  is  rich.  Well,  all 
that  is  to  be  regretted.  But  you  are  neither  a 
plebeian  nor  a  pauper  yourself.  You  are  a 
man  of  good  birth,  you  are  a  man  of  some  parts, 
and  you  have  a  decent  income.  It  amounts  to 
this  —  she  is  a  great  lady,  you  are  a  small 
gentleman.  In  ordinary  circumstances,  to  be 
sure,  so  small  a  gentleman  could  not  ask  so 
great  a  lady  to  become  his  wife.  But  here  the 
circumstances  are  not  ordinary.  Destiny  has 
meddled  in  the  business.  Small  gentleman 
though  you  are,  an  unusual  and  subtle  relation- 


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ship  has  been  established  between  you  and  your 
great  lady.  She  herself  says,  c  Ordinary  rules 
cannot  apply  —  he  ought  to  tell  her.'  Very 
good  :  tell  her.  She  will  be  astonished,  but  she 
will  see  that  there  is  no  occasion  for  resentment. 
And  though  the  odds  are,  of  course,  a  hundred 
to  one  that  she  will  not  accept  you,  still  she 
must  treat  you  as  an  honourable  suitor.  Afcd 
whether  she  accepts  you  or  rejects  you,  it  is 
better  to  tell  her  and  to  have  it  over,  than  to  go 
on  forever  dangling  this  way,  like  the  poor  cat 
in  the  adage.  Tell  her  —  put  your  fate  to  the 
touch  —  hope  nothing,  fear  nothing  —  and  bow 
to  the  event." 

But  even  this  temperate  answer  provoked  its 
counter-answer. 

"  The  odds  are  a  hundred  to  one,  a  thousand 
to  one,  that  she  will  not  accept  you.  And  if 
you  tell  her,  and  she  does  not  accept  you,  she 
will  not  allow  you  to  see  her  any  more,  you  will 
be  exiled  from  her  presence.  And  I  thought 
you  did  not  wish  to  be  exiled  from  her  presence. 
You  would  stake,  then,  this  great  privilege,  the 
privilege  of  seeing  her,  of  knowing  her,  upon  a 
chance  that  has  a  thousand  to  one  against  it. 
You  make  light  of  the  conventional  barriers  — 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

but  the  principal  barrier  of  them  all,  you  are 
forgetting.  She  is  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  a 
devout  one.  Marry  a  Protestant  ?  She  would 
as  soon  think  of  marrying  a  Paynim  Turk." 

In  the  end,  no  doubt,  a  kind  of  exhaustion 
followed  upon  his  excitement.  Questions  and 
answers  suspended  themselves;  and  he  could 
only  look  up  towards  Ventirose,  and  dumbly 
wish  that  he  was  there.  The  distance  was  so 
trifling — in  five  minutes  he  could  traverse  it  — 
the  law  seemed  absurd  and  arbitrary,  which 
condemned  him  to  sit  apart,  free  only  to  look 
and  wish. 

It  was  in  this  condition  of  mind  that 
Marietta  found  him,  when  she  came  to  an 
nounce  dinner. 

Peter  gave  himself  a  shake.  The  sight  of 
the  brown  old  woman,  with  her  homely, 
friendly  face,  brought  him  back  to  small  things, 
to  actual  things  ;  and  that,  if  it  was  n't  a  com 
fort,  was,  at  any  rate,  a  relief. 

"Dinner?"  he  questioned.  "Do  peris  at 
the  gates  of  Eden  dine  ?  J1 

"  The  soup  is  on  the  table,"  said  Marietta. 

He  rose,  casting  a  last  glance  towards  the 
castle. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Towers  and  battlements  .   .  . 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies, 
The  cynosure  of  neighbouring  eyes.*' 

He  repeated  the  lines  in  an  undertone,  and 
went  in  to  dinner.  And  then  the  restorative 
spirit  of  nonsense  descended  upon  him. 

"  Marietta,"  he  asked,  "  what  is  your  attitude 
towards  the  question  of  mixed  marriages  ?  " 

Marietta  wrinkled  her  brow. 

•c  Mixed  marriages  ?  What  is  that,  Signo- 
rino  ?  " 

"  Marriages  between  Catholics  and  Protes 
tants,"  he  explained. 

"  Protestants  ?  "  Her  brow  was  still  a  net 
work.  "  What  things  are  they  ?  " 

"  They  are  things  —  or  perhaps  it  would  be 
less  invidious  to  say  people  —  who  are  not 
Catholics — who  repudiate  Catholicism  as  a 
deadly  and  soul-destroying  error." 

"Jews  ?  "  asked  Marietta. 

"  No  —  not  exactly.  They  are  generally 
classified  as  Christians.  But  they  protest,  you 
know.  Protesto^protestare^  verb,  active,  first 
conjugation.  (Mi  pare  che  la  donna  protest  a 
troppOy  as  the  poet  sings.  They  're  Christians, 
236 


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but  they  protest    against   the    Pope  and  the 
Pretender." 

"The  Signorino  means  Freemasons,"  said 
Marietta. 

"  No,  he  does  n't,"  said  Peter.  "  He  means 
Protestants." 

"  But  pardon,  Signorino,"  she  insisted ;  "  ir 
they  are  not  Catholics,  they  must  be  Free- 
masons  or  Jews.  They  cannot  be  Christians. 
Christian  —  Catholic :  it  is  the  same.  All 
Christians  are  Catholics." 

"  Tu  quoque  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  regard  the 
terms  as  interchangeable  ?  I  Ve  heard  the 
identical  sentiment  similarly  enunciated  by 
another.  Do  /  look  like  a  Freemason  ? " 

She  bent  her  sharp  old  eyes  upon  him  stu~ 
diously  for  a  moment.  Then  she  shook  her 
head. 

c-  No,"  she  answered  slowly.  "  I  do  not 
think  that  the  Signorino  looks  like  a  Free 
mason." 

"A  Jew,  then?" 

"  Mache  !  A  Jew  ?  The  Signorino  ! "  She 
shrugged  derision. 

"  And  yet  I  'm  what  they  call  a  Protestant," 
he  said. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  No,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,"  said  he.  "  I  refer  you  to  my  spon 
sors  in  baptism.  A  regular,  true  blue  moderate 
High  Churchman  and  Tory,  British  and  Prot 
estant  to  the  backbone,  with  c  Frustrate  their 
Popish  tricks'  writ  large  all  over  me.  You 
have  never  by  any  chance  married  a  Protestant 
yourself?"  he  asked. 

"  No,  Signorino.  I  have  never  married  any 
one.  But  it  was  not  for  the  lack  of  occasions. 
Twenty,  thirty  young  men  courted  me  when  I 
was  a  girl.  But  —  mica!  —  I  would  not  look 
at  them.  When  men  are  young  they  are  too 
unsteady  for  husbands  ;  when  they  are  old  they 
have  the  rheumatism." 

"Admirably  philosophised,"  he  approved. 
"  But  it  sometimes  happens  that  men  are 
neither  young  nor  old.  There  are  men  of 
thirty-five  —  I  have  even  heard  that  there  are 
men  of  forty.  What  of  them  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  proverb,  Signorino,  which  says, 
Sfosi  di  quaranf  anni  son  mai  sempre  tiranni" 
she  informed  him. 

ec  For  the  matter  of  that,"  he  retorted,  "  there 
is  a  proverb  which  says,  Love  laughs  at  lock 
smiths." 

238 


The   Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

™Noncapisco"  said  Marietta,    „ 

€€  That 's  merely  because  it 's  English,"  said 
he.  "  You  *d  understand  fast  enough  if  I 
should  put  it  in  Italian*  But  I  only  quoted  it 
to  show  the  futility  of  proverbs.  Laugh  at 
locksmiths,  indeed !  Why,  it  can't  even  laugh 
at  such  an  insignificant  detail  as  a  Papist's 
prejudices.  But  I  wish  I  were  a  duke  and  a 
millionaire.  Do  you  know  any  one  who 
could  create  me  a  duke  and  endow  me  with 
a  million  ? " 

"  No,  Signormo,  she  answered,  shaking  her 
head. 

"  Fragrant  Cy therea,  foam-born  Venus,  death- 
less  Aphrodite,  cannot,  goddess  though  she  is," 
he  complained.  "  The  fact  is,  I  'm  feeling  rather 
undone.  I  think  I  will  ask  you  to  bring  me  a 
bottle  of  Asti-spumante  — some  of  the  dry  kind, 
with  the  white  seal.  I  '11  try  to  pretend  that 
it's  champagne.  To  tell  or  not  to  tell  — that 
is  the  question. 

*  A  face  to  lose  youth  for,  to  occupy  age 
With  the  dream  of,  meet  death  with  — ; 

And  yet,  if  you  can  believe  me,  the  man  who 
penned  those  lines  had  never  seen  hen     He 


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penned  another  line  equally  pat  to  the  situa 
tion,  though  he  had  never  seen  me,  either  — 
« Is  there  no  method  to  tell  her  in  Spanish  ?  ' 

But  you  can't  imagine  how  I  detest  that  vulgar 
use  of  *  pen '  for  *  write '  —  as  if  literature  were 
a  kind  of  pig.  However,  it 's  perhaps  no  worse 
than  the  use  of  Asti  for  champagne.  One 
should  n't  be  too  fastidious.  I  must  really  try 
to  think  of  some  method  of  telling  her  «n 
Spanish." 

Marietta  went  to  fetch  the  Asti. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXIII 

WHEN  Peter  rose  next  morning,  he  pulled  a 
grimace  at  the  departed  night. 

"  You  are  a  detected  cheat/'  he  cried,  "  an 
unmasked  impostor.  You  live  upon  your  rep- 
utation  as  a  counsellor  —  'tis  the  only  reason 
why  we  bear  with  you.  La  nuit  forte  conseil! 

Yet  what  counsel  have  you  brought  to  me? 

and  I  at  the  pass  where  my  need  is  uttermost. 
Shall  I  go  to  her  this  afternoon,  and  unburden 
my  soul  —  or  shall  I  not  ?  You  have  left  me 
where  you  found  me  —  in  the  same  fine,  free, 
and  liberal  state  of  vacillation.  Discredited 
oracle !  " 

He  was  standing  before  his  dressing-table, 
brushing  his  hair.  The  image  in  the  glass 
frowned  back  at  him.  Then  something  struck 
him. 

<cAt  all  events,  we 'D  go  this  morning  to 
Spiaggia,  and  have  our  hair  cut,"  he  resolved. 

So  he  walked  to  the  village,  and  caught  the 
ten  o'clock  omnibus  for  Spiaggia.  And  after 
16  ~** 


The  CardmaFs  Snuff-Box 

he  had  had  his  hair  cut,  he  went  to  the  Hotel 
de  Russie,  and  lunched  in  the  garden.  And 
after  luncheon,  of  course,  he  entered  the 
grounds  of  the  Casino,  and  strolled  backwards 
and  forwards,  one  of  a  merry  procession,  on  the 
terrace  by  the  lakeside.  The  gay  toilets  of  the 
women,  their  bright-coloured  hats  and  sun- 
shades,  made  the  terrace  look  like  a  great  bank 
of  monstrous  moving  flowers.  The  band  played 
brisk  accompaniments  to  the  steady  babble  of 
voices,  Italian,  English,  German.  The  pure 
air  was  shot  with  alien  scents  —  the  women's 
perfumery,  the  men's  cigarette-smoke.  The 
marvellous  blue  waters  crisped  in  the  breeze, 
and  sparkled  in  the  sun ;  and  the  smooth 
snows  of  Monte  Sfiorito  loomed  so  near, 
one  felt  one  could  almost  put  out  one's  stick 
and  scratch  one's  name  upon  them.  .  .  .  And 
here,  as  luck  would  have  it,  Peter  came  face 
to  face  with  Mrs.  O' Donovan  Florence. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  she,  offering  her 
hand. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  he. 

"It's  a  fine  day,"  said  she. 

"  Very,"  said  he. 

*c  Shall  I  make  you  a  confidence? "  she  asked 
242 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

*c  Do,"  he  answered* 

"  Are  you  sure  I  can  trust  you  ?  "  She 
scanned  his  face  dubiously, 

"  Try  it  and  see,"  he  urged. 

"Well,  then,  if  you  must  know,  I"  was 
thirsting  to  take  a  table  and  call  for  coffee; 
but  having  no  man  at  hand  to  chaperon  me,  I 

dared  not." 

"  Je  vous  en  prie"  cried  Peter,  with  a  gesture 
of  gallantry;  and  he  led  her  to  one  of  the 
round  marble  tables.  " Due  cafe"  he  said  to 
the  brilliant  creature  (chains,  buckles,  ear-rings, 
of  silver  filigree,  and  head-dress  and  apron  of 
flame-red  silk)  who  came  to  learn  their  pleasure. 

"Softly,  softly,"  put  in  Mrs.  O'Donovan 
Florence.  "  Not  a  drop  of  coffee  for  me.  An 
orange-sherbet,  if  you  please.  Coffee  was  a 
figure  of  speech  —  a  generic  term  for  light 
refreshments." 

Peter  laughed,  and  amended  his  order. 

"  Do  you  see  those  three  innocent  darlings 
playing  together,  under  the  eye  of  their  gov 
erness,  by  the  Wellingtonia  yonder  ?  "  enquired 
the  lady. 

"  The  little  girl  in  white  and  the  two  boys  ?  * 
asked  Peter* 

243 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

c<  Precisely/*  said  she.  "  Such  as  they  are, 
they  're  me  own." 

"  Really  ? "  he  responded,  in  the  tone  of  pro 
found  and  sympathetic  interest  we  are  apt  to 
affect  when  parents  begin  about  their  children. 

"  I  give  you  my  word  for  it,"  she  assured 
him.  "  But  I  mention  the  fact,  not  in  a  spirit 
of  boastfulness,  but  merely  to  show  you  that 
I  *m  not  entirely  alone  and  unprotected. 
There 's  an  American  at  our  hotel,  by  the  bye, 
who  goes  up  and  down  telling  every  one  who  '11 
listen  that  it  ought  to  be  Washingtoniay  and 
declaiming  with  tears  in  his  eyes  against  the 
arrogance  of  the  English  in  changing  Washing 
ton  to  Wellington.  As  he 's  a  respectable- 
looking  man  with  grown-up  daughters,  I 
should  think  very  likely  he  's  right." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Peter.  "  It 's  an  Amer 
ican  tree,  isn't  it?" 

"  Whether  it  is  n't  or  whether  it  is,"  said  she, 
"one  thing  is  undeniable:  you  English  are  the 
coldest-blooded  animals  south  of  the  Arctic 
Circle." 

«  Qh  —  ?     Are  we  ?  "  he  doubted. 

"  You  are  that,"  she  affirmed,  with  sorrowing 
emphasis. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  Ah,  well/'  he  reflected,  cc  the  temperature 
of  our  blood  does  n't  matter.  We  're,  at  any 
rate,  notoriously  warm-hearted." 

"Are  you  indeed?"  she  exclaimed.  "  If 
you  are,  it 's  a  mighty  quiet  kind  of  notoriety, 
let  me  tell  you,  and  a  mighty  cold  kind  of 
warmth." 

Peter  laughed. 

"You're  all  for  prudence  and  expediency. 
You  're  the  slaves  of  your  reason.  You  're 
dominated  by  the  head,  not  by  the  heart. 
You  're  little  better  than  calculating-machines. 
Are  you  ever  known,  now,  for  instance,  to  risk 
earth  and  heaven,  and  all  things  between  them, 
on  a  sudden  unthinking  impulse  ?  " 

"  Not  often,  I  daresay,"  he  admitted. 

"  And  you  sit  there  as  serene  as  a  brazen 
statue,  and  own  it  without  a  quaver,"  she 
reproached  him. 

"  Surely,"  he  urged,  "  in  my  character  of 
Englishman,  it  behooves  me  to  appear  smug 
and  self-satisfied  ? " 

"  You  're  right,"  she  agreed.     "  I  wonder," 

she  continued,  after  a  moment's  pause,  during 

which  her  eyes  looked  thoughtful,  "  I  wonder 

whether  you  would  fall  upon  and  annihilate  a 

245 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

person  who  should  venture  to  offer  you  a  word 
of  well-meant  advice." 

"  I  should  sit  as  serene  as  a  brazen  statue, 
and  receive  it  without  a  quaver,"  he  promised. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  she,  leaning  forward  a 
little,  and  dropping  her  voice,  "why  don't 
you  take  your  courage  in  both  hands,  and 
ask  her?" 

Peter  stared. 

"  Be  guided  by  me  —  and  do  it,"  she  said. 

"  Do  what  ?  "  he  puzzled. 

"Ask  her  to  marry  you,  of  course,"  she 
returned  amiably.  Then,  without  allowing  him 
time  to  shape  an  answer,  "  Touche  !  "  she  cried, 
in  triumph.  "  I  Ve  brought  the  tell-tale  colour 
to  your  cheek.  And  you  a  brazen  statue  ! 
'They  do  not  love  who  do  not  show  their 
love.'  But,  in  faith,  you  show  yours  to  any 
one  who  '11  be  at  pains  to  watch  you.  Your 
eyes  bewray  you  as  often  as  ever  you  look  at 
her.  I  had  n't  observed  you  for  two  minutes 
by  the  clock,  when  I  knew  your  secret  as  well 
as  if  you  "d  chosen  me  for  your  confesson 
But  what  *s  holding  you  back  ?  You  can't 
expect  her  to  do  the  proposing.  Now  curse 
me  for  a  meddlesome  Irishwoman,  if  you  will! 
246 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

—  but  why  don't  you  throw  yourself  at  her 
feet,  and  ask  her,  like  a  man  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  ? "  said  Peter,  abandoning 
any  desire  he  may  have  felt  to  beat  about  the 
bush.  Nay,  indeed,  it  is  very  possible  he  wel 
comed,  rather  than  resented,  the  Irishwoman's 
"meddling." 

"  What 's  to  prevent  you  ? "  said  she. 

"  Everything,"  said  he. 

"  Everything  is  nothing.     What  ?  " 

"  Dear  lady  !  She  is  hideously  rich,  for  one 
thing." 

"  Get  away  with  you  !  "  was  the  dear  lady's 
warm  expostulation.  "  What  has  money  to  do 
with  thv.1  question,  if  a  man's  in  love?  But 
that's  the  English  of  it  —  there  you  are  with 
your  cold-blooded  calculation.  You  chain  up 
your  natural  impulses  as  if  they  were  dangerous 
beasts.  Her  money  never  saved  you  from 
succumbing  to  her  enchantments.  Why  should 
it  bar  you  from  declaring  your  passion  ?  " 

"  There 's  a  sort  of  tendency  in  society," 
said  Peter,  "  to  look  upon  the  poor  man  who 
seeks  the  hand  of  a  rich  woman  as  a  fortune- 
hunter." 

*  A  fig  for  the  opinion  of  society,"  she  cried 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  The  only  opinion  you  should  consider  is  the 
opinion  of  the  woman  you  adore.  I  was  an 
heiress  myself;  and  when  Teddy  O' Donovan 
proposed  to  me,  upon  my  conscience  I  believe 
the  sole  piece  of  property  he  possessed  in  the 
world  was  a  corkscrew.  So  much  for  her 
ducats ! " 

Peter  laughed. 

"  Men,  after  coffee,  are  frequently  in  the 
habit  of  smoking,"  said  she.  "  You  have  my 
sanction  for  a  cigarette.  It  will  keep  you  in 


countenance." 


"  Thank  you,"  said  Peter,  and  lit  his 
cigarette. 

"  And  surely,  it *s  a  countenance  you  '11  need, 
to  be  going  on  like  that  about  her  money. 
However — if  you  can  find  a  ray  of  comfort  in 
the  information  —  small  good  will  her  future 
husband  get  of  it,  even  if  he  is  a  fortune- 
hunter  :  for  she  gives  the  bulk  of  it  away  in 
charity,  and  I  'm  doubtful  if  she  keeps  two 
thousand  a  year  for  her  own  spending." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Peter  ;  and  for  a  breathing- 
:  pace  it  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  ray 
of  comfort  in  the  information. 

"  Yes,  you  may  rate  her  at  two  thousand  a 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff~Box 

year,"  said  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence.  "I 
suppose  you  can  match  that  yourself.  So  the 
disparity  disappears." 

The  ray  of  comfort  had  flickered  for  a  second, 
and  gone  out. 

"  There  are  unfortunately  other  disparities," 
he  remarked  gloomily. 

"  Put  a  name  on  them,"  said  she. 

"There's  her  rank." 

His  impetuous  adviser  flung  up  a  hand  of 
scorn. 

"  Her  rank,  do  you  say  ?  "  she  cried.  "  To 
the  mischief  with  her  rank.  What's  rank  to 
love?  A  woman  is  only  a  woman,  whether 
she  calls  herself  a  duchess  or  a  dairy-maid.  A 
woman  with  any  spirit  would  marry  a  bank- 
manager,  if  she  loved  him.  A  man's  a  man. 
You  should  n't  care  that  for  her  rank." 

"That"  was  a  snap  of  Mrs.  O'Donovan 
Florence's  fingers. 

"  I  suppose  you  know,"  said  Peter,  "  that  I 
am  a  Protestant." 

"  Are  you  —  you  poor  benighted  creature  ? 
Well,  that 's  easily  remedied.  Go  and  get 
yourself  baptised  directly." 

She  waved  her  hand  towards  the  town,  as  if 
249 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

to   recommend   his   immediate    procedure    in 
quest  of  a  baptistery. 

Peter  laughed  again. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that 's   more   easily   said   than 

done." 

"  Easy  ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  Why,  you  Ve 
only  to  stand  still  and  let  yourself  be  sprinkled. 
It 's  the  priest  who  does  the  work.  Don't  tell 
me,"  she  added,  with  persuasive  inconsequence, 
"  that  you  '11  allow  a  little  thing  like  being  in 
love  with  a  woman  to  keep  you  back  from 
professing  the  true  faith." 

"  Ah,  if  I  were  convinced  that  it  is  true,"  he 
sighed,  stiil  laughing. 

"What  call  have  you  to  doubt  it?  And 
anyhow,  what  does  it  matter  whether  you  're 
convinced  or  not  ?  I  remember,  when  I  was  a 
school-girl,  I  never  was  myself  convinced  of 
the  theorems  of  Euclid ;  but  I  professed  them 
gladly,  for  the  sake  of  the  marks  they  brought; 
and  the  eternal  verities  of  mathematics  remained 
unshaken  by  my  scepticism." 

"Your  reasoning  is  subtle,"  laughed  Peter. 
"But  the  worst  of  it  is,  if  I  were  ten  times  z 
Catholic,  she  would  n't  have  me.  So  what 's 

the  use ? " 

as® 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  You  never  can  tell  whether  a  woman  will 
have  you  or  not,  until  you  offer  yourself.  And 
even  if  she  refuses  you,  is  that  a  ground  for 
despair?  My  own  husband  asked  me  three 
times,  and  three  times  I  said  no.  And  then 
he  took  to  writing  verses  —  and  I  saw  there  was 
but  one  way  to  stop  him.  So  we  were  married. 
Ask  her ;  ask  her  again  —  and  again.  You 
can  always  resort  in  the  end  to  versification. 
And  now,"  the  lady  concluded,  rising,  "  I 
have  spoken,  and  I  leave  you  to  your  fateu 
I  'm  obliged  to  return  to  the  hotel,  to  hold  a 
bed  of  justice.  It  appears  that  my  innocent 
darlings,  beyond  there,  innocent  as  they  look, 
have  managed  among  them  to  break  the 
electric  light  in  my  sitting-room.  They're 
to  be  arraigned  before  me  at  three  for  an 
instruction  crimlnelle.  Put  what  I  Ve  said  in 
your  pipe,  and  smoke  it  —  't  is  a  mother's 
last  request.  If  I  Ve  not  succeeded  in  de 
termining  you,  don't  pretend,  at  least,  that 
I  haven't  encouraged  you  a  bit.  Put  what 
I  Ve  said  in  your  pipe,  and  see  whether,  by 
vigorous  drawing,  you  can't  fan  the  smoulder 
ing  fires  of  encouragement  into  a  small  blaze 
of  determination.'* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Peter  resumed  his  stroll  backwards  and  for* 
wards  by  the  lakeside.  Encouragement  was 
all  very  well ;  but  ...  "  Shall  I  —  shall  1 
not  ?  Shall  I  —  shall  I  not  ?  Shall  I  —  shall 
I  net  ? "  The  eternal  question  went  tick-tack, 
tick-tack,  to  the  rhythm  of  his  march.  He 
glared  at  vacancy,  and  tried  hard  to  make  up 
his  mind. 

"I  'm  afraid  I  must  be  somewhat  lacking  in 
decision  of  character,"  he  said,  with  pathetic 
wonder. 

Then  suddenly  he  stamped  his  foot. 

"  Come  !  An  end  to  this  tergiversation.  Do 
it.  Do  it,"  cried  his  manlier  soul. 

"  I  will?  he  resolved  all  at  once,  drawing  a 
deep  breath,  and  clenching  his  fists. 

He  left  the  Casino,  and  set  forth  to  walk  to 
Veritirose.  He  could  not  wait  for  the  omni 
bus,  which  would  not  leave  till  four.  He 
must  strike  while  his  will  was  hot. 

He  walked  rapidly  ;  in  less  than  an  hour  he 
had  reached  the  tall  gilded  grille  of  the  park. 
He  stopped  for  an  instant,  and  looked  up  the 
straight  avenue  of  chestnuts,  to  the  western  front 
of  the  castle,  softly  alight  in  the  afternoon  sun 
He  put  his  hand  upon  the  pendent  bell-pull 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

of  twisted  iron,  to  summon  the  porter.  In 
another  second  he  would  have  rung,  he  would 
have  been  admitted.  .  .  .  And  just  then  one 
of  the  little  demons  that  inhabit  the  circumam 
bient  air,  called  his  attention  to  an  aspect  of 
the  situation  which  he  had  not  thought  of. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  it  whispered  in  his  ear. 
"You  were  there  only  yesterday.  It  can't 
fail,  therefore,  to  seem  extraordinary,  your 
calling  again  to-day.  You  must  be  prepared 
with  an  excuse,  an  explanation.  But  suppose, 
when  you  arrive,  suppose  that  (like  the  lady 
in  the  ballad)  she  greets  you  with  c  a  glance  of 
cold  surprise'  —  what  then,  my  dear?  Why, 
then,  it's  obvious,  you  can't  allege  the  true 
explanation  —  can  you  ?  If  she  greets  you 
with  a  glance  of  cold  surprise,  you  '11  have 
your  answer,  as  it  were,  before  the  fact  — 
you  '11  know  that  there  's  no  manner  of  hope 
for  you ;  and  the  time  for  passionate  avowals 

will  automatically  defer  itself.  But  then ? 

Hew  will  you  justify  your  visit  ?  What  face 
can  you  put  on  ?  " 

"H'm,"  assented  Peter,  "there's  some 
thing  in  that." 

*  There  '3  a  great  deal   in   that,9*  said  th« 


The  CardlnaFs  Snuff-Box 

demon.  cc  You  must  have  an  excuse  up  your 
sleeve,  a  pretext.  A  true  excuse  is  a  fine  thing 
in  its  way ;  but  when  you  come  to  a  serious 
emergency,  an  alternative  false  excuse  is 
indispensable." 

"H'm,"  said  Peter. 

However,  if  there  are  demons  in  the  atmos 
phere,  there  are  gods  in  the  machine  —  (Pa- 
raschkine  even  goes  so  far  as  to  maintain  that 
"  there  are  more  gods  in  the  machine  than 
have  ever  been  taken  from  it.")  While  Peter 
stood  still,  pondering  the  demon's  really  rather 
cogent  intervention,  his  eye  was  caught  by 
something  that  glittered  in  the  grass  at  the 
roadside. 

"The  Cardinal's  snuff-box,"  he  exclaimed, 
picking  it  up. 

The  Cardinal  had  dropped  his  snuff-box. 
Here  was  an  excuse,  and  to  spare.  Peter  rang 
the  bell. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXIV 

AND,  like  the  lady  in  the  ballad,  sure  enough, 
she  greeted  his  arrival  with  a  glance  of  cold 
surprise. 

At  all  events,  eyebrows  raised,  face  unsmil 
ing,  it  was  a  glance  that  clearly  supplemented 
her  spoken  "  How  do  you  do  ?  "  by  a  tacit 
(perhaps  self-addressed  ?)  "  What  can  bring 
him  here  ?  " 

You  or  I,  indeed,  or  Mrs.  O' Donovan 
Florence,  in  the  fulness  of  our  knowledge, 
might  very  likely  have  interpreted  it  rather  as 
a  glance  of  nervous  apprehension.  Anyhow, 
it  was  a  glance  that  perfectly  checked  the  im 
petus  of  his  intent.  Something  snapped  and 
gave  way  within  him ;  and  he  needed  no  fur 
ther  signal  that  the  occasion  for  passionate 
avowals  was  not  the  present. 

And  thereupon  befell  a  scene  that  was  really 

quite  too   absurd,  that  was  really   childish  — 

a  scene  over  the  memory  of  which,  I  must  be- 

Jieve,  they  themselves  have  sometimes  laughed 

255 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

together;  though,  at  the  moment,  its  absurd 
ity  held,  for  him  at  least,  elements  of  the 
tragic. 

He  met  her  in  the  broad  gravelled  carriage- 
sweep,  before  the  great  hall-door.  She  had  on 
her  hat  and  gloves,  as  if  she  were  just  going 
out.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she  was  a  little 
pale ;  her  eyes  seemed  darker  than  usual,  and 
graver.  Certainly  — cold  surprise,  or  nervous 
apprehension,  as  you  will  —  her  attitude  was 
by  no  means  cordial.  It  was  not  on-coming. 
It  showed  none  of  her  accustomed  easy,  half- 
humorous,  wholly  good-humoured  friendliness. 
It  was  decidedly  the  attitude  of  a  person  stand 
ing  off,  shut  in,  withheld. 

"  I  have  never  seen  her  in  the  least  like  this 
before,"  he  thought,  as  he  looked  at  her  pale 
face,  her  dark,  grave  eyes ;  "  I  have  never 
seen  her  more  beautiful.  And  there  is  not 
one  single  atom  of  hope  for  me." 

"How  do  you  do?  "  she  said,  unsmiling  — 
and  waited,  as  who  should  invite  him  to  state 
his  errand.  She  did  not  offer  him  her  hand : 
but,  for  that  matter,  (she  might  have  pleaded), 
she  could  not,  very  well :  for  one  of  her  hands 
held  her  sunshade,  and  the  other  held  an  em- 
256 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

broidered  silk  bag,  woman's   makeshift  for  a 
pocket. 

And  then,  capping  the  first  pang  of  his  dis 
appointment,  a  kind  of  anger  seized  him. 
After  all,  what  right  had  she  to  receive  him 
in  this  fashion  ?  —  as  if  he  were  an  intrusive 
stranger.  In  common  civility,  in  common 
justice,  she  owed  it  to  him  to  suppose  that  he 
would  not  be  there  without  abundant  reason. 

And  now,  wlch  Peter  angry,  the  absurd 
little  scene  began. 

Assuming  an  attitude  designed  to  be,  in  its 
own  way,  as  reticent  as  hers,  "  I  was  passing 
your  gate,"  he  explained,  "  when  I  happened 
to  find  this,  lying  by  the  roadside.  I  took  the 
liberty  of  bringing  it  to  you." 

He  gave  her  the  Cardinal's  snuff-box,  which, 
in  spite  of  her  hands'  preoccupation,  she  was 
able  to  accept. 

"  A  liberty  ! "  he  thought,  grinding  his 
teeth.  "Yes!  No  doubt  she  would  have 
wished  me  to  leave  it  with  the  porter  at  the 
lodge.  No  doubt  she  deems  it  an  act  of  offi- 
ciousness  on  my  part  to  have  found  it  at  all." 

And  his  anger  mounted. 

"  How  very  good  of  you,"  she  said*     *  Mj 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff~Box 

uncle  could  not  think  where  he  had  mislaid 
it." 

"  I  am  very  fortunate  to  be  the  means  of 
restoring  it,"  said  he. 

Then,  after  a  second's  suspension,  as  she 
said  nothing  (she  kept  her  eyes  on  the  snuff 
box,  examining  it  as  if  it  were  quite  new  to 
her),  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  bowed,  preparatory 
to  retiring  down  the  avenue. 

"  Oh,  but  my  uncle  will  wish  to  thank  you," 
she  exclaimed,  looking  up,  with  a  kind  of 
start.  "  Will  you  not  come  in  ?  1  —  I  will 
see  whether  he  is  disengaged." 

She  made  a  tentative  movement  towards  the 
door.  She  had  thawed  perceptibly. 

But  even  as  she  thawed.  Peter,  in  his  anger, 
froze  and  stiffened.  "  1  will  see  whether  he  is 
disengaged."  The  expression  grated.  And 
perhaps,  in  effect,  it  was  not  a  particularly  fe 
licitous  expression.  But  if  the  poor  woman 
was  suffering  from  nervous  apprehension  —  ? 

"  I  beg  you  on  no  account  to  disturb  Car 
dinal  Udeschini,"  he  returned  loftily.  "  It  is 
not  a  matter  of  the  slightest  consequence." 

And  even  as  he  stiffened,  she  unbent. 

4<  But  it  is  a  matter  of  conseguence  to  him, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

to  us,"  she  said,  faintly  smiling.  "We  have 
hunted  high  and  low  for  it.  We  feared  it  was 
lost  for  good.  It  must  have  fallen  from  his 
pocket  when  he  was  walking.  He  will  wish  to 
thank  you." 

"I  am  more  than  thanked  already,"  said 
Peter.  Alas  (as  Monsieur  de  la  Pallisse  has 
sagely  noted),  when  we  aim  to  appear  dignified, 
how  often  do  we  just  succeed  in  appearing 
churlish. 

And  to  put  a  seal  upon  this  ridiculous  en 
counter,  to  make  it  irrevocable,  he  lifted  his 
hat  again,  and  turned  away. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  murmured  the  Duchessa, 
in  a  voice  that  did  not  reach  him.  If  it  had 
reached  him,  perhaps  he  would  have  come 
back,  perhaps  things  might  have  happened.  I 
think  there  was  regret  in  her  voice,  as  well  as 
despite.  She  stood  for  a  minute,  as  he  tramped 
down  the  avenue,  and  looked  after  him,  with 
those  unusually  dark,  grave  eyes.  At  last, 
making  a  little  gesture— as  of  regret?  de 
spite  ?  impatience  ?  —  she  went  into  the  house. 
^  "  Here  is  your  snuff-box,"  she  said  to  the 
Cardinal. 

The  old  man  put  down  his  Breviary  (he  was 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

seated  by  an  open  window,  getting  through  his 
office),  and  smiled  at  the  snuff-box  fondly,  ca 
ressing  it  with  his  finger.  Afterwards,  he  shook 
it,  opened  it,  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  "  he  enquired. 

"  It  was  found  by  that  Mr.  March  dale,"  she 
said,  "in  the  road,  outside  the  gate.  You 
must  have  let  it  drop  this  morning,  when  you 
were  walking  with  Emilia." 

"  That  Mr.  Marchdale  ? "  exclaimed  the 
Cardinal.  "  What  a  coincidence." 

"  A  coincidence  —  ?  "  questioned  Beatrice. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  he.  "Was  it  not  to 
Mr.  Marchdale  that  I  owed  it  in  the  first 
instance  ? " 

«Oh  —  ?  Was  it  ?  I  had  fancied  that  you 
owed  it  to  me." 

"Yes  —  but,"  he  reminded  her,  whilst  the 
lines  deepened  about  his  humorous  old  mouth, 
"  but  as  a  reward  of  my  virtue  in  conspiring 
with  you  to  convert  him.  And,  by  the  way, 
how  is  his  conversion  progressing  ?  " 

The  Cardinal  looked  up,  with  interest. 

"  It  is  not  progressing  at  all.     I  think  there 
is   no  chance  of  it,"   answered   Beatrice,  in  a 
tone  that  seemed  to  imply  a  certain  irritation. 
•60 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

«  Oh  —  ?  "  said  the  Cardinal. 

<c  No,"  said  she. 

cc  I  thought  he  had  shown  c  dispositions '  ?  * 
said  the  Cardinal. 

"That  was  a  mistake.  He  has  shown 
none.  He  is  a  very  tiresome  and  silly  per 
son.  He  is  not  worth  converting/*  she  de 
clared  succinctly. 

"  Good  gracious  !  "  said  the  Cardinal. 

He  resumed  his  office.  But  every  now  and 
again  he  would  pause,  and  look  out  of  the 
window,  with  the  frown  of  a  man  meditating 
something ;  then  he  would  shake  his  head 
significantly^  and  take  snuff. 


Peter  tramped  down  the  avenue,  angry  and 
sick. 

Her  reception  of  him  had  not  only  adminis 
tered  an  instant  death-blow  to  his  hopes  as  a 
lover,  but  in  its  ungenial  aloofness  it  had  cruelly 
wounded  his  pride  as  a  man.  He  felt  snubbed 
and  humiliated.  Oh,  true  enough,  she  had 
unbent  a  little,  towards  the  end.  But  it  was 
the  look  with  which  she  had  first  greeted  him  — 
at  was  the  air  with  which  she  had  waited  for  him 
261 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

to  state  his  errand  —  that  stung,  and  rankled, 
and  would  not  be  forgotten. 

He  was  angry  with  her,  angry  with  circum 
stances,  with  life,  angry  with  himself. 

"I  am  a  fool  —  and  a  double  fool  —  and  a 
triple  fool,"  he  said.  "  I  am  a  fool  ever  to 
have  thought  of  her  at  all ;  a  double  fool  ever 
to  have  allowed  myself  to  think  so  much  of 
her;  a  triple  and  quadruple  and  quintuple 
idiot  ever  to  have  imagined  for  a  moment  that 
anything  could  come  of  it.  I  have  wasted 
time  enough.  The  next  best  thing  to  winning 
is  to  know  when  you  are  beaten.  I  acknowl 
edge  myself  beaten.  I  will  go  back  to  Eng 
land  as  soon  as  I  can  get  my  boxes  packed." 

He  gazed  darkly  round  the  familiar  valley, 
with  eyes  that  abjured  it. 

Olympus,  no  doubt,  laughed. 


261 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXY 

"  I  SHALL  go  back  to  England  as  soon  as  I  can 
get  my  boxes  packed." 

But  he  took  no  immediate  steps  to  get  them 
packed. 

"  Hope,"  observes  the  clear-sighted  French 
publicist  quoted  in  the  preceding  chapter, 
"  hope  dies  hard." 

Hope,  Peter  fancied,  had  received  its  death 
blow  that  afternoon.  Already,  that  evening, 
it  began  to  revive  a  little.  It  was  very  much 
enfeebled ;  it  was  very  indefinite  and  diffident ; 
but  it  was  not  dead.  It  amounted,  perhaps,  to 
nothing  more  than  a  vague  kind  of  feeling  that 
he  would  not,  on  the  whole,  make  his  departure 
for  England  quite  so  precipitate  as,  in  the  first 
heat  of  his  anger,  the  first  chill  of  his  despair, 
he  had  intended.  Piano,  piano!  He  would 
move  slowly,  he  would  do  nothing  rash. 

But  he  was  not  happy,  he  was  very  far  from 
happy.  He  spent  a  wretched  night,  a  wretched, 
restless  morrow.  He  walked  about  a  great 


The   Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

deal  —  about  his  garden,  and  afterwards,  when 
the  damnable  iteration  of  his  garden  had  be 
come  unbearable,  he  walked  to  the  village,  and 
took  the  riverside  path,  under  the  poplars, 
along  the  racing  Aco,  and  followed  it,  as  the 
waters  paled  and  broadened,  for  I  forget  how 
many  joyless,  unremunerative  miles. 

When  he  came  home,  fagged  out  and  dusty, 
at  dinner  time,  Marietta  presented  a  visiting- 
card  to  him,  on  her  handsomest  salver.  She 
presented  it  with  a  flourish  that  was  almost  a 
swagger. 

Twice  the  size  of  an  ordinary  visiting-card, 
the  fashion  of  it  was  roughly  thus :  — 


JL  CARDLE  UDESCHINI 

Sacr  *  Congr  i  Archie  :  ft  Inscript :  ?r*f: 
Palazzo  Udeschini, 


And  above  the  legend,  was  pencilled,  in  a 
small  old-fashioned  hand,  wonderfully  neat  and 

pretty :  - — 

"  To  thank  Mr.  Marchdale  for  his  courtesy 
in  returning  my  snuft-box." 
264 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  The  Lord  Prince  Cardinal  Udeschini  was 
here,"  said  Marietta.  There  was  a  swagger  in 
her  accent.  There  was  also  something  in  her 
accent  that  seemed  to  rebuke  Peter  for  his 
absence. 

"  I  had  inferred  as  much  from  this/'  said  he, 
tapping  the  card.  "  We  English,  you  know, 
are  great  at  putting  two  and  two  together." 

"  He  came  in  a  carnage,"  said  Marietta. 

"  Not  really  ?  "  said  her  master. 

"  Ang —  veramente"  she  affirmed. 

"Was  —  was  he  alone?"  Peter  askedD  an 
obscure  little  twinge  of  hope  stirring  in  his 
heart. 

"  No,  Signorino."  And  then  she  general 
ised,  with  untranslatable  magniloquence  :  "  Un 
amplissimo  porporato  non  va  mai  solo." 

Peter  ought  to  have  hugged  her  for  that 
amplissimo  porporato.  But  he  was  selfishly  en 
grossed  in  his  emotions. 

"  Who  was  with  him  ?  "  He  tried  to  throw 
the  question  out  with  a  casual  effect,  an  effect 
of  unconcern. 

c  The  Signorina  Emelia  Manfred!  was  with 
him,"  answered  Marietta,  little  recking  how 
mere  words  can  stab. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

«  Oh,"  said  Peter. 

"The  Lord  Prince  Cardinal  Udeschini  was 
very  sorry  not  to  see  the  Signorino/"  continued 
Marietta. 

"  Poor  man  —  was  he  ?  Let  us  trust  that 
time  will  console  him,"  said  Peter,  callously. 

But,  "  I  wonder,"  he  asked  himself,  "  I 
wonder  whether  perhaps  I  was  the  least  bit 
hasty  yesterday  ?  If  I  had  stopped,  I  should 
have  saved  the  Cardinal  a  journey  here  to-day 

—  I  might  have  known   that  he  would  come, 
these  Italians  are  so  punctilious  —  and   then, 
if  I  had  stopped  —  if  I  had  stopped  —  possibly 

—  possibly  — " 

Possibly  what  ?  Oh,  nothing.  And  yet,  if  he 
had  stopped  .  .  .  well,  at  any  rate,  he  would 
have  gained  time.  The  Duchessa  had  already 
begun  to  thaw.  If  he  had  stopped  .  .  .  He 
could  formulate  no  precise  conclusion  to  that 
if;  but  he  felt  dimly  remorseful  that  he  had 
not  stopped,  he  felt  that  he  had  indeed  been 
the  least  bit  hasty.  And  his  remorse  was 
somehow  medicine  to  his  reviving  hope. 

"  After  all,  I  scarcely  gave  things  a  fair  trial 
yesterday,"  he  said. 

And  the  corollary  of  that,  of  course,  was 
266 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

that  he  might  give  things  a  further  and  fairer 
trial  some  other  day. 

But  his  hope  was  still  hard  hurt;  he  was 
still  in  a  profound  dejection, 

"The  Signorino  is  not  eating  his  dinner," 
cried  Marietta,  fixing  him  with  suspicious, 
upbraiding  eyes. 

"  I  never  said  I  was,"  he  retorted. 

<e  The  Signorino  is  not  well  ?  "  she  ques 
tioned,  anxious. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  cost>  cosi ;  the  Signorino  is  well 
enough,"  he  answered. 

"  The  dinner "  —  you  could  perceive  that 
she  brought  herself  with  difficulty  to  frame  the 
dread  hypothesis  —  "  the  dinner  is  not  good  ?  " 
Her  voice  sank.  She  waited,  tense,  for  his 
reply. 

"The  dinner,"  said  he,  "if  one  may  criticise 
without  eating  it,  the  dinner  is  excellent.  I 
will  have  no  aspersions  cast  upon  my  cook." 

"  Ah-h-h  !  "  breathed  Marietta,  a  tremu 
lous  sigh  of  relief. 

"  It  is  not  the  Signorino,  it  is  not  the  din 
ner,  it  is  the  world  that  is  awry,"  Peter  went 
on,  in  reflective  melancholy.  "  *T  is  the  times 
that  are  out  of  joint  *T  is  the  sex,  the  Sex,, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

that  is  not  well,  that  is  not  good,  that  needs  a 
thorough  overhauling  and  reforming." 

u  Which  sex?  "  asked  Marietta. 

"  The  sex,"  said  Peter.  "  By  the  unanimous 
consent  of  rhetoricians,  there  is  but  one  sex : 
the  sex,  the  fair  sex,  the  unfair  sex,  the  gentle 
sex,  the  barbaric  sex.  We  men  do  not  form  a 
sex,  we  do  not  even  form  a  sect.  We  are  your 
mere  hangers-on,  camp-followers,  satellites  — 
your  things,  your  playthings  —  we  are  the 
mere  shuttlecocks  which  you  toss  hither  and 
thither  with  your  battledores,  as  the  wanton 
mood  impels  you.  We  are  born  of  woman, 
we  are  swaddled  and  nursed  by  woman,  we  are 
governessed  by  woman ;  subsequently,  we  are 
beguiled  by  woman,  fooled  by  woman,  led  on, 
put  off,  tantalised  by  woman,  fretted  and  bul 
lied  by  her ;  finally,  last  scene  of  all,  we  are 
wrapped  in  our  cerements  by  woman.  Man's 
life,  birth,  death,  turn  upon  woman,  as  upon  a 
hinge.  I  have  ever  been  a  misanthrope,  but 
now  I  am  seriously  thinking  of  becoming  a 
misogynist  as  well.  Would  you  advise  me 
to  do  so  ?  " 

"  A  misogynist  ?  What  is  that,  Signorino  ? " 
asked  Marietta, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

<c  A  woman-hater,"  he  explained ;  "  one  who 
abhors  and  forswears  the  sex;  one  who  has 
dashed  his  rose-coloured  spectacles  from  his 
eyes,  and  sees  woman  as  she  really  is,  with  no 
illusive  glamour ;  one  who  has  found  her  out. 
Yes,  I  think  I  shall  become  a  misogynist.  It 
is  the  only  way  of  rendering  yourself  invul 
nerable,  't  is  the  only  safe  course.  During 
my  walk  this  afternoon,  I  recollected,  from  the 
scattered  pigeon-holes  of  memory,  and  arranged 
in  consequent  order,  at  least  a  score  of  good 
old  apothegmatic  shafts  against  the  sex.  Was 
it  not,  for  example,  in  the  grey  beginning  of 
days,  was  it  not  woman  whose  mortal  taste 
brought  sin  into  the  world  and  all  our  woe  ? 
Was  not  that  Pandora  a  woman,  who  liberated, 
from  the  box  wherein  they  were  confined,  the 
swarm  of  winged  evils  that  still  afflict  us  ?  I 
will  not  remind  you  of  St.  John  Chrysostom's 
golden  parable  about  a  temple  and  the  thing  it 
is  constructed  over.  But  I  will  come  straight 
to  the  point,  and  ask  whether  this  is  truth  the 
poet  sings,  when  he  informs  us  roundly  that 
*  every  woman  is  a  scold  at  heart '  ?  " 

Marietta  was  gazing  patiently  at  the  sky. 
She  did  not  answer. 

269 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  The  tongue/*  Peter  resumed,  "  is  woman's 
weapon,  even  as  the  fist  is  man's.  And  it  is  a 
far  deadlier  weapon.  Words  break  no  bones 
—  they  break  hearts,  instead.  Yet  were  men 
one-tenth  part  so  ready  with  their  fistSj  as 
women  are  with  their  barbed  and  envenomed 
tongues,  what  savage  brutes  you  would  think 
us  —  wouldn't  you? — and  what  a  rushing 
trade  the  police-courts  would  drive,  to  be  sure. 
That  is  one  of  the  good  old  cliches  that  came 
back  to  me  during  my  walk.  Ail  women  are 
alike  —  there 's  no  choice  amongst  animated 
fashion-plates :  that  is  another.  A  woman  is 
the  creature  of  her  temper;  her  husband,  her 
children,  and  her  servants  are  its  victims  :  that 
is  a  third.  Woman  is  a  bundle  of  pins ;  man 
is  her  pin-cushion.  When  woman  loves,  't  is 
not  the  man  she  loves,  but  the  man's  flattery  ^ 
woman's  love  is  reflex  self-love.  The  man 
who  marries  puts  himself  in  irons.  Marriage 
is  a  bird-cage  in  a  garden.  The  birds  without 
hanker  to  get  in ;  but  the  birds  within  know 
that  there  is  no  condition  so  enviable  as  that 
of  the  birds  without.  Well,  speak  up.  What 
do  you  think?  Do  you  advise  me  to  become 
a  misogynist  ? " 

270 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"  I  do  not  understand,  Signorino,"  said 
Marietta. 

"  Of  course,  you  don't,"  said  Peter.  "  Who 
ever  could  understand  such  stuff  and  nonsense  ? 
That's  the  worst  of  it.  If  only  one  could 
understand,  if  only  one  could  believe  it,  one 
might  find  peace,  one  might  resign  oneself. 
But  alas  and  alas  !  I  have  never  had  any  real 
faith  in  human  wickedness ;  and  now,  try  as  I 
will,  I  cannot  imbue  my  mind  with  any  real 
faith  in  the  undesirability  of  woman.  That  is 
why  you  see  me  dissolved  in  tears,  and  unable 
to  eat  my  dinner.  Oh,  to  think,  to  think,"  he 
cried  with  passion,  suddenly  breaking  into  Eng 
lish,  "  to  think  that  less  than  a  fortnight  ago, 
less  than  one  little  brief  fortnight  ago,  she  was 
seated  in  your  kitchen,  seated  there  familiarly, 
in  her  wet  clothes,  pouring  tea,  for  all  the  world 
as  if  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  house !  " 

Days  passed.  He  could  not  go  to  Ventirose 
—  or,  anyhow,  he  thought  he  could  not.  He 
reverted  to  his  old  habit  of  living  in  his  gar 
den,  haunting  the  riverside,  keeping  watchful, 
covetous  eyes  turned  towards  the  castle.  The 
river  bubbled  and  babbled ;  the  sun  shone 
strong  and  clear;  his  fountain  tinkled  ^  his 

•91 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

b'irds  flew  about  their  affairs ;  his  flowers 
breathed  forth  their  perfumes ;  the  Gnisi 
frowned,  the  uplands  westward  laughed,  the 
snows  of  Monte  Sfiorito  sailed  under  every 
colour  of  the  calendar  except  their  native  white. 
All  was  as  it  had  ever  been  —  but  oh,  the 
difference  to  him.  A  week  passed.  He 
caught  no  glimpse  of  the  Duchessa.  Yet  he 
took  no  steps  to  get  his  boxes  packed. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXVI 

AND  then  Marietta  fell  ill. 

One  morning,  when  she  came  into  his  room, 
to  bring  his  tea,  and  to  open  the  Venetian  blinds 
that  shaded  his  windows,  she  failed  to  salute 
him  with  her  customary  brisk  "  Buon*  giornoy 
Signorino" 

Noticing  which,  and  wondering,  he,  from  his 
pillow,  called  out,  cc Buon  giorno.  Marietta" 

"  Euori  giornoy  Signorino"  she  returned  — 
but  in  a  whisper. 

"What's  the  matter?  Is  there  cause  for 
secrecy  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  I  have  a  cold,  Signorino,"  she  whispered, 
pointing  to  her  chest.  "  I  cannot  speak." 

The  Venetian  blinds  were  up  by  this  time  ; 
the  room  was  full  of  sun.  He  looked  at  her. 
Something  in  her  face  alarmed  him.  It  seemed 
drawn  and  set,  it  seemed  flushed. 

"  Come  here,*'  he  said,  with  a  certain  per- 
emptoriness      "  Give  me  your  hand." 
* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

She  wiped  her  brown  old  hand  backwards 
and  forwards  across  her  apron  ;  then  gave  it  to 
him. 

It  was  hot  and  dry. 

"Your  cold  is  feverish,"  he  said.  "You 
must  go  to  bed,  and  stay  there  till  the  fever 
has  passed." 

"  I  cannot  go  to  bed,  Signorino,"  she  replied, 

"  Can't  you  ?     Have  you  tried  ?  "  asked  he. 

cc  No,  Signorino,"  she  admitted. 

"  Well,  you  never  can  tell  whether  you  can 
do  a  thing  or  not,  until  you  try,"  said  he, 
"  Try  to  go  to  bed  ;  and  if  at  first  you  don't 
succeed,  try,  try  again." 

"  I  cannot  go  to  bed.  Who  would  do 
the  Signorino's  work  ?  "  was  her  whispered 
objection. 

"  Hang  the  Signorino's  work.  The  Signo 
rino's  work  will  do  itself.  Have  you  never 
observed  that  if  you  conscientiously  neglect  to 
do  your  work,  it  somehow  manages  to  get 
done  without  you?  You  have  a  feverish 
cold  ;  you  must  keep  out  of  draughts  ;  and 
the  only  place  where  you  can  be  sure  of  keep 
ing  out  of  draughts,  is  bed.  Go  to  bed  at 


once* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box: 

She  left  the  room, 

But  when  Peter  came  downstairs,  half  an  hour 
later,  he  heard  her  moving  in  her  kitchen. 

<c  Marietta  !  "  he  cried,  entering  that  apart 
ment  with  the  mien  of  Nemesis.  "  I  thought 
I  told  you  to  go  to  bed." 

Marietta  cowered  a  little,  and  looked  sheep 
ish,  as  one  surprised  in  the  flagrant  fact  of 
misdemeanour* 

<c  Yes,  Signorino,"  she  whispered. 

"Well  —  ?  Do  you  call  Ms  bed?''  he 
demanded, 

"  No,  Signorino,"  she  acknowledged, 

<c  Do  you  wish  to  oblige  me  to  put  you  to 
bed?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  no,  Signorino,"  she  protested,  horror 
in  her  whisper. 

"Then  go  to  bed  directly.  If  you  delay 
any  longer,  I  shall  accuse  you  of  wilful 
insubordination." 

"  Bene,  Signorino"  reluctantly  consented 
Marietta. 

Peter  strolled  into  his  garden.  Gigi,  the 
gardener,  was  working  there. 

"  The  very  man  I  most  desired  to  meet/' 
said  Peter,  and  beckoned  to  him,     "  Is  there  a 
•7S 


The  CardinaFs  Snuff-Box 

doctor  in  the  village  ? "  he  enquired,  when  Gigi 
had  approached. 

"  Yes,  Signorino.  The  Syndic  Is  a  doctor 
—  Dr.  Carretaji." 

"  Good,"  said  Peter.  "  Will  you  go  to  the 
village,  please,  and  ask  Dr.  Carretaji  if  he  can 
make  it  convenient  to  call  here  to-day  ? 
Marietta  is  not  well." 

"Yes,  Signorino." 

"  And  stop  a  bit,"  said  Peter.  "  Are  there 
such  things  as  women  in  the  village  ? ' 

"  Ah,  mache,  Signorino  !  But  many,  many," 
answered  Gigi,  rolling  his  dark  eyes  sympa 
thetically,  and  waving  his  hands. 

"  I  need  but  one,"  said  Peter.  "  A  woman 
to  come  and  do  Marietta's  work  for  a  day  or 
two  —  cook,  and  clean  up,  and  that  sort  of 
thing.  Do  you  think  you  could  procure  me 
such  a  woman  ?  " 

"There  is  my  wife,  Signorino,"  suggested 
Gigi.  "  If  she  would  content  the  Signorino  ?  " 

"  Oh  ?  I  was  n't  aware  that  you  were  married. 
A  hundred  felicitations.  Yes,  your  wife,  by  all 
means.  Ask  her  to  come  and  rule  as  Marietta's 


vicereine." 


Gigi  started  for  the  village. 
276 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Peter  went  into  the  house,  and  knocked  at 
Marietta's  bed-room  door.  He  found  her  in 
bed,  with  her  rosary  in  her  hands.  If  she 
could  not  work,  she  would  not  waste  her 
time.  In  Marietta's  simple  scheme  of  life, 
work  and  prayer,  prayer  and  work,  stood, 
no  doubt,  as  alternative  and  complementary 
duties, 

"But  you  are  not  half  warmly  enough 
covered  up,"  said  Peter. 

He  fetched  his  travelling-rug,  and  spread  it 
over  her.  Then  he  went  to  the  kitchen,  where 
she  had  left  a  fire  burning,  and  filled  a  bottle 
with  hot  water* 

"  Put  this  at  your  feet,"  he  said,  returning 
to  Marietta. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  allow  the  Signorino  to  wait 
on  me  like  this,"  the  old  woman  mustered 
voice  to  murmur. 

"  The  Signorino  likes  it  —  it  affords  him 
healthful  exercise,"  Peter  assured  her. 

Dr.  Carretaji  came  about  noon,  a  fat  middle- 
aged  man,  with  a  fringe  of  black  hair  round 
an  ivory-yellow  scalp,  a  massive  watch-chain 
(adorned  by  the  inevitable  pointed  bit  of 
coral),  and  podgy,  hairy  hands.  But  he 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

seemed   kind  and  honest,  and  he  seemed  to 
know  his  business. 

"  She  has  a  catarrh  of  the  larynx,  with,  I 
am  afraid,  a  beginning  of  bronchitis,"  was 
his  verdict. 

"  Is  there  an*;  danger  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

"Not  the  slightest.  She  must  remain  in 
bed,  and  take  frequent  nourishment  Hot 
milk,  and  now  and  then  beef-tea.  I  will  send 
some  medicine.  But  the  great  things  are 
nourishment  and  warmth,  I  will  call  again 
to-morrow." 

Gigi's  wife  came.  She  was  a  tall,  stalwart, 
black-browed,  red-cheeked  young  woman, 
and  her  name  (Gigi's  eyes  flashed  proudly, 
as  he  announced  it)  her  name  was  Carolina 
Maddalena. 

Peter  had  to  be  in  and  out  of  Marietta's 
room  all  day,  to  see  that  she  took  her  beef-tea 
and  milk  and  medicine  regularly.  She  dozed 
a  good  deal.  When  she  was  awake*  she  said 
her  rosary. 

But  next  day  she  was  manifestly  worse. 
"Yes  —  bronchitis,   as    I    feared,"  said    the 
doctor,     "  Danger  ?     No  —  none,  if  properly 
looked  after*     Add  a  little  brandy  to  her  milk. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

and  see  that  she  has  at  least  a  small  cupful 
every  half-hour.  I  think  it  would  be  easier 
for  you  if  you  had  a  nurse.  Someone  should 
be  with  her  at  night.  There  is  a  Convent  of 
Mercy  at  Venzona.  If  you  like,  I  will  tele 
phone  for  a  sister." 

€C  Thank  you  very  muchc  I  hope  you  will," 
said  Peter, 

And  that  afternoon  Sister  Scholastica  arrived, 
and  established  herself  in  the  sick-room.  Sister 
Scholastica  was  young,  pale,  serene,  competent, 
But  sometimes  she  had  to  send  for  Peter, 

€<She  refuses  to  take  her  milk.  Possibly 
she  will  take  it  from  you,**  the  sister  said. 

Then  Peter  would  assume  a  half-bluff  (per 
haps  half-wheedling  ?)  tone  of  mastery. 

"Come,  Marietta!  You  must  take  your 
milk.  The  Signorino  wishes  it  You  must 
not  disobey  the  Signorino." 

And  Marietta,  with  a  groan,  would  rouse 
herself,  and  take  it,  Peter  holding  the  cup  to 
her  lips. 

On  the  third  day,  in  the  morning,  Sister 
Scholastica  said,  "She  imagines  that  she  is 
worse.  I  do  not  think  so  myself.  But  she 
keeps  repeating  that  she  is  going  to  die.  She 

•79 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

wishes  to  see  a  priest.  I  think  it  would  make 
her  feel  easier.  Can  you  send  for  the  Par- 
rocco  ?  Please  let  him  know  that  it  is  not  an 
occasion  for  the  Sacraments.  But  it  would 
do  her  good  if  he  would  come  and  talk  with 
her/' 

And  the  doctor,  who  arrived  just  then,  hav 
ing  visited  Marietta,  confirmed  the  sister's 
opinion. 

"She  is  no  worse  —  she  is,  if  anything, 
rather  better.  Her  malady  is  taking  its  nat 
ural  course.  But  people  of  her  class  always 
fancy  they  are  going  to  die,  if  they  are  ill 
enough  to  stay  in  bed.  It  is  the  panic  of  ig 
norance.  Yes,  I  think  it  would  do  her  good 
to  see  a  priest  But  there  is  not  the  slightest 
occasion  for  the  Sacraments." 

So  Peter  sent  Gigi  to  the  village  for  the 
Parrocco.  And  Gigi  came  back  with  the  in 
telligence  that  the  Parrocco  was  away,  making 
a  retreat,  and  would  not  return  till  Saturday. 
To-day  was  Wednesday, 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ?  *'  Peter  asked  of 
Sister  Scholastica, 

"  There  is  Monsigaor  Langshawe,  at  Caste' 
Ventirose/'  said  the  sister. 

•80 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

**  Could  I  ask  him  to  come  ? "  Peter  doubted. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  sister.     "  In  a  case  of 

illness,  the  nearest  priest  will   always   gladly 


come." 


So  Peter  despatched  Gigi  with  a  note  to 
Monsignor  Langshawe, 

And  presently  up  drove  a  brougham,  with 
Gigi  on  the  box  beside  the  coachman,  And 
from  the  brougham  descended,  not  Monsignor 
Langshawe,  but  Cardinal  Udeschini,  followed 
by  Emilia  Manfredi. 

The  Cardinal  gave  Peter  his  hand,  with  a 
smile  so  sweet,  so  benign,  so  sunny-bright  — 
it  was  like  music.  Peter  thought ;  it  was  like  a 
silent  anthem,, 

"  Monsignor  Langshawe  has  gone  to  Scot 
land,  for  his  holiday.  I  have  come  in  his 
place.  Your  man  told  me  of  your  need,*'  the 
Cardinal  explained. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  your  Emi 
nence,"  Peter  murmured,  and  conducted  him 
to  Marietta's  room. 

Sister  Scholastica  genuflected,  and  kissed  the 
Cardinal's  ring,  and  received  his  Benediction. 
Then  she  and  Peter  withdrew,  and  went  into 

the  garden. 

•Si 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

The  sister  joined  Emilia,  and  they  walked 
backwards  and  forwards  together,  talking. 
Peter  sat  on  his  rustic  bench,  smoked  cigar 
ettes,  and  waited. 

Nearly  an  hour  passed. 

At  length  the  Cardinal  came  out 

Peter  rose,  and  went  forward  to  meet  him. 

The  Cardinal  was  smiling;  but  about  his 
eyes  there  was  a  suggestive  redness* 

wMr.  Marchdale,"  he  said,  "your  house 
keeper  is  in  great  distress  of  conscience  touch 
ing  one  or  two  offences  she  feels  she  has  been 
guilty  of  towards  you.  They  seem  to  me,  in 
frankness,  somewhat  trifling.  But  I  cannot 
persuade  her  to  accept  my  view.  She  will  not 
be  happy  till  she  has  asked  and  received  your 
pardon  for  them." 

"  Offences  towards  me  ?  "  Peter  wondered. 
"  Unless  excess  of  patience  with  a  very  trying 
employer  constitutes  an  offence,  she  has  been 
guilty  of  none." 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "Her 
conscience  accuses  her  —  she  must  satisfy  it. 
Will  you  come  ? " 

The  Cardinal  sat  down  at  the  head  of  Mari 
etta's  bed,  and  took  her  hand 
•Si 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

a  Now,  dear,"  he  said,  with  the  gentleness, 
the  tenderness,  of  one  speaking  to  a  beloved 
child,  "here  is  Mr.  Marchdale.  Tell  him 
what  you  have  on  your  mind.  He  is  ready  to 
hear  and  to  forgive  you." 

Marietta  fixed  her  eyes  anxiously  on  Peter's 
face. 

"  First/'  she  whispered,  **  I  wish  to  beg  the 
Signorino  to  pardon  all  this  trouble  I  am  mak 
ing  for  him.  I  am  the  Signorino's  servant ;  but 
instead  of  serving,  I  make  trouble  for  him." 

She  paused.     The  Cardinal  smiled  at  Peter. 

Peter  answered,  "  Marietta,  if  you  talk  like 
that,  you  will  make  the  Signorino  cry.  You 
are  the  best  servant  that  ever  lived.  You  are 
putting  me  to  no  trouble  at  all.  You  are  giv 
ing  me  a  chance  —  which  I  should  be  glad  of, 
except  that  it  involves  your  suffering  —  to 
show  my  affection  for  you,  and  my  gratitude.'* 

"There,  dear,"  said  the  Cardinal  to  her, 
"  you  see  the  Signorino  makes  nothing  of  that. 
Now  the  next  thing.  Go  on." 

"  I  have  to  ask  the  Signorino's  forgiveness 
for  my  impertinence,"  whispered  Marietta. 

"  Impertinence  —  ?  "  faltered  Peterc  **  You 
have  never  been  impertinent" 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


cc 


ly  Signorino"  she  went  on,  in  her  whis 
per.  "  I  have  sometimes  contradicted  the  Si- 
gnorino.  I  contradicted  the  Signorino  when 
he  told  me  that  St.  Anthony  of  Padua  was  born 
in  Lisbon.  It  is  impertinent  of  a  servant  to 
contradict  her  master*  And  now  his  most 
high  Eminence  says  the  Signorino  was  right. 
I  beg  the  Signorino  to  forgive  me." 

Again  the  Cardinal  smiled  at  Peter. 

"  You  dear  old  woman,"  Peter  half  laughed, 
half  sobbed,  "  how  can  you  ask  me  to  forgive 
a  mere  difference  of  opinion?  You  —  you 
dear  old  thing." 

The  Cardinal  smiled,  and  patted  Marietta's 
hand. 

"The  Signorino  is  too  good,"  Marietta 
sighed. 

"  Go  on,  dear,"  said  the  Cardinal. 

c<  I  have  been  guilty  of  the  deadly  sin  of 
evil  speaking.  I  have  spoken  evil  of  the 
Signorino,"  she  went  on.  "  I  said  —  I  said  to 
people  —  that  the  Signorino  was  simple  —  that 
he  was  simple  and  natural.  I  thought  so  then. 
Now  I  know  it  is  not  so.  I  know  it  is  only 
that  the  Signorino  is  English." 

Once  more  the  Cardinal  smiled  at  Peter, 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff- Box 

Again  Peter  half  laughed,  half  sobbed. 

"  Marietta !  Of  course  I  am  simple  and 
natural.  At  least,  I  try  to  be.  Come !  Look 
up.  Smile.  Promise  you  will  not  worry  about 
these  things  any  more. " 

She  looked  up,  she  smiled  faintly* 

"  The  Signorino  is  too  good,"  she  whispered. 

After  a  little  interval  of  silence,  "  Now, 
dear,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "the  last  thing  of 
all." 

Marietta  gave  a  groan,  turning  her  head 
from  side  to  side  on  her  pillow. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  said  the  Cardinal, 
"  Mr.  Marchdale  will  certainly  forgive  you." 

"•Oh-h-h,"  groaned  Marietta,  She  stared 
at  the  ceiling  for  an  instant. 

The  Cardinal  patted  her  hand.  <c  Courage, 
courage,"  he  said. 

"Oh  —  Signorino  mio,"  she  groaned  again, 
"  this  you  never  can  forgive  me.  It  is  about 
the  little  pig,  the  porcellino.  The  Signorino 
remembers  the  little  pig,  which  he  called 
Francesco  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Peter. 

"  The  Signorino  told  me  to  take  the  little 
pig  away,  to  find  a  home  for  him.  And  I 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

told  the  Signorino  that  I  would  take  him  to 
my  nephew,  who  is  a  farmer,  towards  Fogliamo. 
The  Signorino  remembers  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Peter.  "Yes,  you  dear 
old  thing.  I  remember." 

Marietta  drew  a  deep  breath,  summoned  her 
utmost  fortitude. 

"  Well,  I  did  not  take  him  to  my  nephew. 
The  —  the  Signorino  ate  him." 

Peter  could  hardly  keep  from  laughing.  He 
could  only  utter  a  kind  of  half-choked  "  Oh  ? " 

"Yes,"  whispered  Marietta.  "He  was 
bought  with  the  Signorino's  money.  I  did 
not  like  to  see  the  Signorino's  money  wasted. 
So  I  deceived  the  Signorino.  You  ate  him  as 
a  chicken- pasty." 

This  time  Peter  did  laugh,  I  am  afraid. 
Even  the  Cardinal  —  well,  his  smile  was  peril 
ously  near  a  titter.  He  took  a  big  pinch  of 
snuff. 

"  I  killed  Francesco,  and  I  deceived  the 
Signorino.  I  am  very  sorry,"  Marietta  said. 

Peter  knelt  down  at  her  bedside. 

"  Marietta  1  Your  conscience  is  too  sensi 
tive.  As  for  killing  Francesco  —  we  are  all 
mortal,  he  could  not  have  lived  forever*  And 

*86 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

as  for  deceiving  the  Signorino,  you  did  it  for 
his  own  good.  I  remember  that  chicken- 
pasty.  It  was  the  best  chicken-pasty  I  have 
ever  tasted*  You  must  not  worry  any  more 
about  the  little  pig." 

Marietta  turned  her  face  towards  him,  and 
smiled. 

"  The  Signorino  forgives  his  servant  ?  "  she 
whispered. 

Peter  could  not  help  it     He  bent  forward, 
and  kissed  her  brown  old  cheek. 

"  She  will  be  easier  now/'  said  the  Cardinal. 
"  I  will  stay  with  her  a  little  longer." 

Peter  went  out.  The  scene  had  been  child 
ish  —  do  you  say  ?  —  ridiculous,  almost  farcical 
indeed?  And  yet,  somehow,  it  seemed  to 
Peter  that  his  heart  was  full  of  unshed  tears. 
At  the  same  time,  as  he  thought  of  the  Cardi 
nal,  as  he  saw  his  face,  his  smile,  as  he  heard 
the  intonations  of  his  voice,  the  words  he  had 
spoken,  as  he  thought  of  the  way  he  had  held 
Marietta's  hand  and  patted  it  —  at  the  same 
time  a  kind  of  strange  joy  seemed  to  fill  his 
heart,  a  strange  feeling  of  exaltation,  of  en* 
thusiasm. 

**  What  a  heavenly  old  man,**  he  said 
089 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

In  the  garden  Sister  Scholastica  and  Emilia 
were  still  walking  together, 

They  halted,  when  Peter  came  out;  and 
Emilia  said,  "  With  your  consent,  Signore, 
Sister  Scholastica  has  accepted  me  as  her  lieu 
tenant.  I  will  come  every  morning,  and  sit 
with  Marietta  during  the  day.  That  will  re 
lieve  the  sister,  who  has  to  be  up  with  her  at 
night" 

And  every  morning  after  that,  Emilia  came, 
walking  through  the  park,  and  crossing  the 
river  by  the  ladder-bridge,  which  Peter  left 
now  permanently  in  its  position.  And  once 
or  twice  a  week,  in  the  afternoon,  the  Cardinal 
would  drive  up  in  the  brougham,  and,  having 
paid  a  little  visit  to  Marietta,  would  drive 
Emilia  home. 

In  the  sick-room  Emilia  would  read  to 
Marietta,  or  say  the  rosary  for  hen 

Marietta  mended  steadily  day  by  day.  At 
the  end  of  a  fortnight  she  was  able  to  leave 
her  bed  for  an  hour  or  two  in  the  afternoon, 
and  sit  in  the  sun  in  the  garden.  Then  Sister 
Scholastica  went  back  to  her  convent  at  Ven- 
zona.  At  the  end  of  the  third  week  Marietta 
could  be  up  all  day.  But  Gigi's  stalwart  Caro- 

»88 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Una  Maddalena  continued  to  rule  as  vicereine 
in  the  kitchen.  And  Emilia  continued  to 
come  every  morning. 

"Why  does  the  Duchessa   never   come5* 
Peter  wondered.     "  It  would  be  decent  of  her 
to  come  and  see  the  poor  old  woman." 

Whenever  he  thought  of  Cardinal  Udes- 
chini,  the  same  strange  feeling  of  joy  would 
spring  up  in  his  heart,  which  he  had  felt 
when  he  had  left  the  beautiful  old  man  with 
Marietta,  on  the  day  of  his  first  visit.  In 
the  beginning  he  could  only  give  this  feel 
ing  a  very  general  and  indefinite  expression. 
"  He  is  a  man  who  renews  one's  faith  in 
things,  who  renews  one's  faith  in  human 
nature."  But  gradually,  I  suppose,  the  feel 
ing  crystallised;  and  at  last,  in  due  season, 
it  found  for  itself  an  expression  that  was  not 
so  indefinite. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon,  and  he  had  just 
conducted  the  Cardinal  and  Emilia  to  their 
carriage.  He  stood  at  his  gate  for  a  minute, 
and  watched  the  carriage  as  it  rolled  away, 

"  What  a  heavenly  old  man,  what  a  heavenly 
old  man,"  he  thought. 

Then,  still  looking  after  the  carriage,  before 
(9  289 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

turning  back  into  his  garden,  he  heard  himself 
repeat,  half  aloud  — 

"  Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbour's  creed  hath  lent." 

The  words  had  come  to  his  lips,  and  were 
pronounced,  were  addressed  to  his  mental 
image  of  the  Cardinal,  without  any  conscious 
act  of  volition  on  his  part.  He  heard  them 
with  a  sort  of  surprise,  almost  as  if  some  one 
else  had  spoken  them.  He  could  not  in  the 
least  remember  what  poem  they  were  from,  he 
could  not  even  remember  what  poet  they  were 
by.  Were  they  by  Emerson?  It  was  years 
since  he  had  read  a  line  of  Emerson's. 

All  that  evening  the  couplet  kept  running 
in  his  head.  And  the  feeling  of  joy,  of  enthu 
siasm,  in  his  heart,  was  not  so  strange  now. 
But  I  think  it  was  intensified. 

The  next  time  the  Cardinal  arrived  at  Villa 
Floriano,  and  gave  Peter  his  hand,  Peter  did 
not  merely  shake  it,  English  fashion,  as  he  had 
hitherto  done. 

The  Cardinal  looked  startled. 

Then  his  eyes  searched  Peter's  face  for  a 
second,  keenly  interrogative.  Then  they  soft- 

290 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

ened ;  and  a  wonderful    clear  light  shone   its 
them,  a  wonderful  pure,  sweet  light* 

"  Benedicat  te  Omnipotent  Deus>  Pater t  el 
FiliuSy  et  Spiritus  Sanctus?  he  said,  making 
the  Sign  of  the  Cross. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXVII 

UP  at  the  castle.  Cardinal  Udeschini  was  walk 
ing  backwards  and  forwards  on  the  terrace, 
reading  his  Breviary, 

Beatrice  was  seated  under  the  white  awning, 
at  the  terrace-end,  doing  some  kind  of  needle 
work. 

Presently  the  Cardinal  came  to  a  standstill 
near  her,  and  closed  his  book,  putting  his 
finger  in  it,  to  keep  the  place. 

"  It  will  be,  of  course,  a  great  loss  to  Casa 
Udeschini,  when  you  marry,"  he  remarked. 

Beatrice  looked  up,  astonishment  on  her 
brow, 

"  When  I  marry  ? "  she  exclaimed.  «  Well, 
if  ever  there  was  a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear 
sky!" 

And  she  laughed. 

«Yes — when  you  marry,"  the  Cardinal 
repeated,  with  conviction.  "  You  are  a  young 
woman  —  you  are  twenty-eight  years  old, 
You  will  marry.  It  is  only  right  that  you 

MMI 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

should  marry.  You  have  not  the  vocation 
for  a  religious.  Therefore  you  must  marry. 
But  it  will  be  a  great  loss  to  the  house  of 
Udeschini." 

"  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof/' 
said  Beatrice,  laughing  again.  "  I  have  n't  the 
remotest  thought  of  marrying.  I  shall  never 
marry/' 

<c  //  ne  faut  jamais  dire  a  la  fontaine^  je  ne 
boiral  pas  de  ton  eau?  his  Eminence  cautioned 
her,  whilst  the  lines  of  humour  about  his 
mouth  emphasised  themselves,  and  his  grey 
eyes  twinkled.  "  Other  things  equal,  marriage 
is  as  much  the  proper  state  for  the  laity,  as 
celibacy  is  the  proper  state  for  the  clergy. 
You  will  marry.  It  would  be  selfish  of  us  to 
oppose  your  marrying.  You  ought  to  marry, 
But  it  will  be  a  great  loss  to  the  family  —  it 
will  be  a  great  personal  loss  to  me.  You  are 
as  dear  to  me  as  any  of  my  blood.  I  am 
always  forgetting  that  we  are  uncle  and  niece 
by  courtesy  only." 

"I  shall  never  marry.  But  nothing  that 
can  happen  to  me  can  ever  make  the  faintest 
difference  in  my  feeling  for  you.  I  hope  you 
know  how  much  I  love  you?"  She  looked 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

into  his  eyes,  smiling  her  love.  "  You  are 
only  my  uncle  by  courtesy  ?  But  you  are 
more  than  an  uncle — you  have  been  like  a 
father  to  me,  ever  since  I  left  my  convent." 

The  Cardinal  returned  her  smile. 

tc  Carissima,"  he  murmured.  Then,  cc  It 
will  be  a  matter  of  the  utmost  importance  to 
me,  however,"  he  went  on,  "  that,  when  the 
time  comes,  you  should  marry  a  good  man,  a 
suitable  man  —  a  man  who  will  love  you, 
whom  you  will  love  —  and,  if  possible,  a  man 
who  will  not  altogether  separate  you  from  me, 
who  will  perhaps  love  me  a  little  too.  It 
would  send  me  in  sorrow  to  my  grave,  if  you 
should  marry  a  man  who  was  not  worthy  of 
you." 

"  I  will  guard  against  that  danger  by  not 
marrying  at  all/*  laughed  Beatrice. 

"  No  —  you  will  marry,  some  day,"  said  the 
Cardinal.  "  And  I  wish  you  to  remember 
that  I  shall  not  oppose  your  marrying  —  pro 
vided  the  man  is  a  good  man.  Felipe  will  not 
like  it  —  Guido  will  pull  a  long  nose  —  but  I, 
at  least,  will  take  your  part,  if  I  can  feel  that 
the  man  is  good-  Good  men  are  rare,  my 
dear;  good  husbands  are  rarer  stilL  I  can 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

think,  for  instance,  of  no  man  in  our  Roman 
nobility,  whom  I  should  be  content  to  see  you 
many*  Therefore  I  hope  you  will  not  marry 
a  Roman.  You  would  be  more  likely  to 
marry  one  of  your  own  countrymen.  That, 
of  course,  would  double  the  loss  to  us,  if  it 
should  take  you  away  from  Italy.  But  re 
member,  if  he  is  a  man  whom  I  can  think 
worthy  of  you,  you  may  count  upon  me  as  an 
ally." 

He  resumed  his  walk,  reopening  his  Breviary, 

Beatrice  resumed  her  needlework.  But  she 
found  it  difficult  to  fix  her  attention  on  it. 
Every  now  and  then,  she  would  leave  her 
needle  stuck  across  its  seam,  let  the  work  drop 
to  her  lap,  and,  with  eyes  turned  vaguely  up 
the  valley,  fall,  apparently,  into  a  muse. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  said  all  that  to  me  ?  " 
was  the  question  that  kept  posing  itself. 

By  and  by  the  Cardinal  closed  his  Breviary, 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  I  suppose  he  had 
finished  his  office  for  the  day.  Then  he  came 
and  sat  down  in  one  of  the  wicker  chairs, 
under  the  awning.  On  the  table,  among  the 
books  and  things,  stood  a  carafe  of  water,  some 
tumblers,  a  silver  sugar-bowl,  and  a  crystaJ 


The  CardinaPs  Snuff-Box 

dish  full  of  fresh  pomegranate  seeds.  It 
looked  like  a  dish  full  of  unset  rubies.  The 
Cardinal  poured  some  water  into  a  tumbler, 
added  a  lump  of  sugar  and  a  spoonful  of 
pomegranate  seeds,  stirred  the  mixture  till  it 
became  rose-coloured,  and  drank  it  off  in  a 
series  of  little  sips. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Beatrice  ?  "  he  asked, 
all  at  once. 

Beatrice  raised  her  eyes,  perplexed. 

cc  The  matter  —  ?    Is  anything  the  matter  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Cardinal;  "something  is 
the  matter.  You  are  depressed,  you  are 
nervous,  you  are  not  yourself.  I  have  noticed 
it  for  many  days.  Have  you  something  on 
your  mind  ?  " 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,"  Beatrice  answered, 
with  an  appearance  of  great  candour.  "  /  had 
not  noticed  that  I  was  nervous  or  depressed." 

"  We  are  entering  October,"  said  the  Car 
dinal.  "  I  must  return  to  Rome.  I  have  been 
absent  too  long  already.  I  must  return  next 
week.  But  I  should  not  like  to  go  away 
with  the  feeling  that  you  are  unhappy." 

**  If  a  thing  were  needed  to  make  me  un 
happy,  it  would  be  the  announcement  of  your 


The  Cardinal's  Snufl-Box 

intended  departure,"  Beatrice  said,  smiling. 
"  But  otherwise,  I  am  no  more  unhappy  than 
it  is  natural  to  be.  Life,  after  all,  is  n't  such  a 
furiously  gay  business  as  to  keep  one  perpet 
ually  singing  and  dancing  —  is  it?  But  I  am 
not  especially  unhappy." 

"  H'm,"  said  the  Cardinal.  Then,  in  a 
minute,  "You  will  come  to  Rome  in  No 
vember,  I  suppose  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Yes  —  towards  the  end  of  November,  1 
think,"  said  Beatrice. 

The  Cardinal  rose,  and  began  to  walk  back 
wards  and  forwards  again. 

In  a  little  while  the  sound  of  carriage-wheels 
could  be  heard,  in  the  sweep,  round  the  corner 
of  the  house. 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Here  is  the  carriage,"  he  said.  "  I  must 
go  down  and  see  that  poor  old  woman.  .  .  . 
Do  you  know,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "  I  think  it  would  be  well  if  you 
were  to  go  with  me." 

A  shadow  came  into  Beatrice's  eyes. 

"  What  good  would  that  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

cc  It  would  give  her  pleasure,  no  doubt 
And  besides,  she  is  one  of  your  parishioners,  as 
297 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

it  were,  I  think  you  ought  to  go.  You  have 
never  been  to  see  her  since  she  fell  ill." 

«Oh  — well,"  said  Beatrice. 

She  was  plainly  unwilling.  But  she  went  to 
put  on  her  things. 

In  the  carnage,  #hen  they  had  passed  the 
village  and  crossed  the  bridge,  as  they  were 
bowling  along  the  straight  white  road  that  led 
to  the  villa,  "  What  a  long  time  it  is  since  Mr. 
Marchdale  has  been  at  Ventirose,"  remarked 
the  Cardinal. 

"Oh — ?  Is  it?"  responded  Beatrice,  with 
indifference. 

"  It  is  more  than  three  weeks,  I  think- — it 
is  nearly  a  month,"  the  Cardinal  said. 

«Oh  —  ?"  said  she,, 

"  He  has  had  his  hands  full,  of  course;  he 
has  had  little  leisure,"  the  Cardinal  pursued. 
"  His  devotion  to  his  poor  old  servant  has 
3een  quite  admirable.  But  now  that  she  is 
practically  recovered,  he  will  be  freer/' 

"Yes,"  said  Beatrice. 

"  He  is  a  young  man  whom  I  like  very 
much,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "He  is  intelligent; 
he  has  good  manners ;  and  he  has  a  fine  sense 
of  the  droll.  Yes,  he  has  wit — -  a  wit  that  you 

298 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

seldom  find  in  an  Anglo-Saxon,  a  wit  that  is 
almost  Latin.  But  you  have  lost  your  interest 
in  him?  That  is  because  you  despair  of  his 
conversion  ? " 

"I  confess  I  am  not  greatly  interested  in 
him,"  Beatrice  answered.  "And  I  certainly 
have  no  hopes  of  his  conversion." 

The  Cardinal  smiled  at  his  ring.  He  opened 
his  snuff-box,  and  inhaled  a  long  deliberate 
pinch  of  snuff, 

"  Ah,  well  —  who  can  tell  ?  "  he  said.  <c  But 
—  he  will  be  free  now,  and  it  is  so  long  since 
he  has  been  at  the  castle — had  you  not  better 
ask  him  to  luncheon  or  dinner  ? " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  answered  Beatrice.  "  If 
he  does  not  come  to  Ventirose,  it  is  presum 
ably  because  he  does  not  care  to  comec  If  he 
does  care  to  come,  he  needs  no  invitation.  He 
knows  that  he  is  at  liberty  to  call  whenever 
he  likes." 

"  But  it  would  be  civil,  it  would  be  neigh 
hourly,  to  ask  him  to  a  meal,"  the  Cardinal 
submitted. 

"  And  it  would  put  him  in  the  embarrassing 
predicament  of  having  either  to  accept  agains* 
his  will,  or  to  decline  and  appear  ungracious/ 

•OQ 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

submitted    Beatrice.     "  No,  it  is  evident  that 
Ventirose  does  not  amuse  him." 

"  Bene"  said  the  Cardinal.     "  Be  it  as  you 
wish." 

But  when  they  reached  Villa  Floriano,  Peter 
was  not  at  home. 

"  He  has  gone  to  Spiaggia  for  the  day/' 
Emilia  informed  them. 

Beatrice  (the  Cardinal  fancied)  looked  at 
once  relieved  and  disappointed. 

Marietta  was  seated  in  the  sun,  in  a  sheltered 
corner  of  the  garden. 

While  Beatrice  talked  with  her,  the  Cardinal 
walked  about 

Now  it  so  happened  that  on  Peter's  rustic 
table  a  book  lay  open,  face  downwards. 

The  Cardinal  saw  the  book.  He  halted  in 
his  walk,  and  glanced  round  the  garden,  as  if 
to  make  sure  that  he  was  not  observed.  He 
tapped  his  snuff-box,  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 
Then  he  appeared  to  meditate  for  an  instant,  the 
:ines  about  his  mouth  becoming  very  marked 
:  ndeedo  At  last,  swiftly,  stealthily,  almost  with 
the  air  of  a  man  committing  felony,  he  slipped 
his  snuff-box  under  the  open  book,  well  under 
tt»  so  that  it  was  completely  covered  up. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

On  the  way  back  to  Ventirose,  the  Cardinal 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  he  suddenly  exclaimed.  "  I 
have  lost  my  snuff-box  again."  He  shook  his 
head,  as  one  who  recognises  a  fatality.  "  I  am 
always  losing  it.'* 

"  Are  you  sure  you  had  it  with  you  ? "  Bea 
trice  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  I  had  it  with  me.  I 
should  have  missed  it  before  this,  if  I  had  left 
it  at  home.  I  must  have  dropped  it  in  Mr. 
Marchdale's  garden." 

"In  that  case  it  will  probably  be  found," 
said  Beatrice. 


Peter  had  gone  to  Spiaggia,  I  imagine,  in  the 
hope  of  meeting  Mrs.  O'Donovan  Florence ; 
but  the  printed  visitor's  list  there  told  him  that 
she  had  left  nearly  a  fortnight  since.  On  his 
return  to  the  villa,  he  was  greeted  by  Marietta 
with  the  proud  tidings  that  her  Excellency  the 
Duchessa  di  Santangiolo  had  been  to  see  her. 

"  Oh  —  ?  Really  ?  "'  he  questioned  lightly. 
(His  heart,  I  think,  dropped  a  beat,  all  the 
same.) 

301 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

*  Ang,w  said  Marietta,,  ^She  came  with 
the  most  Eminent  Prince  Cardinal.  They 
came  in  the  carnage0  She  stayed  half  an  hour. 
She  was  very  gracious/* 

"  Ah  ?  "  said  Peter.    ct  i  am  glad  to  near  it." 

"She  was  beautifully  dressed/*  said  Marietta. 

"  Of  that  1  have  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt/' 
said  he, 

"  The  Signorina  Emilia  drove  away  with 
their;,"  said  she, 

"  Dear,  dear !  Wnat  a  cnapter  of  adven 
tures/1  was  his  comment 

He  went  to  his  rustic  table,  and  picked  up 
his  book. 

a  How  the  deuce  did  that  come  there  ?  "  he 
wondered,  discovering  the  snuff-box. 

It  was,  in  trutn,  an  odd  place  for  it  A  car- 
dinal  may  inadvertently  drop  his  snuff-box, to  be 
sure.  But  if  the  whole  College  of  Cardinals  to 
gether  had  dropped  a  snuff-box,  it  would  hardly 
have  fallen,  of  its  own  weight,  through  the  cov 
ers  of  an  open  book,  to  the  under-side  thereof, 
and  have  left  withal  no  trace  of  its  passage. 

"  Solid  matter  will  not  pass  through  solid 
matter,  without  fraction  —  I  learned  that  at 
school/*  said  Peter, 

302 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

The  inference  would  be  that  someone  had 
purposely  put  the  snuff-box  there. 

But  who  % 

The  Cardinal  himself?  In  the  name  of 
reason,  why? 

Emilia?     Nonsense, 

Marietta  ?     Absurd, 

The  Du— 

A  wild  surmise  darted  through  Peter's  soul. 

Could  it  be?  Could  it  conceivably  be? 
Was  it  possible  that  —  that  —  was  it  pos 
sible,  in  fine,  that  this  was  a  kind  of  signal,  a 
kind  of  summons? 

Oh,  no,  no,  no.     And  yet  —  and  yet  — 

No,  certainly  not  The  idea  was  prepos 
terous.  It  deserved,  and  (I  trust)  obtained,, 
summary  deletion. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Peter,  "  it  *s  a  long 
while  since  I  have  darkened  the  doors  of 
Ventirose.  And  a  poor  excuse  is  better  than 
none.  And  anyhow,  the  Cardinal  will  be  glad 
to  have  his  snuff." 

The  ladder-bridge  was  in  its  place. 

He  crossed  the  Aco. 


303 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 


XXVIII 

HE  crossed  the  Aco,  and  struck  bravely  for 
ward,  up  the  smooth  lawns,  under  the  bending 
trees,  towards  the  castle. 

The  sun  was  setting.  The  irregular  mass 
of  buildings  stood  out  in  varying  shades  of 
blue,  against  varying,  dying  shades  of  red. 

Half  way  there,  Peter  stopped,  and  looked 
back. 

The  level  sunshine  turned  the  black  forests 
of  the  Gnisi  to  shining  forests  of  bronze,  and 
the  foaming  cascade  that  leapt  down  its  side  to 
a  cascade  of  liquid  gold.  The  lake,  for  the 
greater  part,  lay  in  shadow,  violet-grey  through 
a  pearl-grey  veil  of  mist ;  but  along  the  oppo 
site  shore  it  caught  the  light,  and  gleamed  a 
crescent  of  quicksilver,  with  roseate  reflections. 
The  three  snow-summits  of  Monte  Sfiorito, 
at  the  valley's  end,  seemed  almost  insubstantial 
—  floating  forms  of  luminous  pink  vapour, 
above  the  hazy  horizon,  in  a  pure  sky  intensely 
blue, 

304 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

A  familiar  verse  came  into  Peter's  mind. 

c<  Really ,M  he  said  to  himself,  "  down  to  the 
very  *  cataract  leaping  in  glory,'  I  believe  they 
must  have  pre-arranged  the  scene,  feature  for 
feature,  to  illustrate  it."  And  he  began  to 
repeat  the  vivid,  musical  lines,  under  his 
breath  •  •  . 

But  about  midway  of  them  he  was  inter 
rupted. 

"  It 's  not  altogether  a  bad  sort  of  view  —  is 
it?"  a  voice  asked,  behind  him. 

Peter  faced  about. 

On  a  marble  bench,  under  a  feathery  acacia, 
a  few  yards  away,  a  lady  was  seated,  looking  at 
him,  smiling. 

Peter's  eyes  met  hers  —  and  suddenly  his 
heart  gave  a  jump.  Then  it  stood  dead  still 
for  a  second.  Then  it  flew  off,  racing  peril 
ously.  Oh,  for  the  best  reasons  in  the  world. 
There  was  something  in  her  eyes,  there  was  a 
glow,  a  softness,  that  seemed  —  that  seemed  . . . 
But  thereby  hangs  my  tale. 

She  was  dressed  in  white.  She  had  some 
big  bright-yellow  chrysanthemums  stuck  in  her 
belt.  She  wore  no  hat,  Her  hair,  brown  and 
warm  in  shadow,  sparkled^  where  the  sun 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

touched  it,  transparent  and  iridescent,  like 
crinkly  threads  of  glass. 

"  You  do  not  think  it  altogether  bad  —  1 
hope  ? "  she  questioned,  arching  her  eyebrows 
slightly,  with  a  droll  little  assumption  of 
concern. 

Peter's  heart  was  racing  —  but  he  must 
answer  her. 

"  I  was  just  wondering,"  he  answered,  with 
a  tolerably  successful  feint  of  composure, 
"whether  one  might  not  safely  call  it  alto 
gether  good." 

«  Oh  —  ?  "  she  exclaimed , 

She  threw  back  her  head,  and  examined  the 
prospect  critically.  Afterwards,  she  returned 
her  gaze  to  Peter,  with  an  air  of  polite  readi 
ness  to  defer  to  his  opinion. 

"  It  is  not  too  sensational  ?  Not  too  much 
like  a  landscape  on  the  stage?" 

"We  must  judge  it  leniently,"  said  he;  "we 
must  remember  that  it  is  only  unaided  Nature. 
Besides,"  he  added,  "  to  be  meticulously  truth 
ful,  there  is  a  spaciousness,  there  is  a  vivacity 
in  the  light  and  colour,  there  is  a  sense  of 
depth  and  atmosphere,  that  we  should  hardly 
find  in  a  landscape  on  the  stage,'* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Yes  —  perhaps  there  is,"  she  admitted 
thoughtfully. 

And  with  that,  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  and  laughed. 

"Are  you  aware,"  the  lady  asked,  after  a 
brief  silence,  "  that  it  is  a  singularly  lovely 
evening  ? " 

"  I  have  a  hundred  reasons  for  thinking  it 
so,"  Peter  answered,  with  the  least  approach 
to  a  meaning  bow. 

In  the  lady's  face  there  flickered,  perhaps, 
for  half  a  second,  the  faintest  light,  as  of  a 
comprehending  and  unresentful  smile.  But 
she  went  on,  with  fine  detachment  — 

"  How  calm  and  still  it  is.  The  wonderful 
peace  of  the  day's  compline.  It  seems  as  if 
the  earth  had  stopped  breathing  —  does  n't  it  ? 
The  birds  have  already  gone  to  bed,  though 
the  sun  is  only  just  setting.  It  is  the  hour 
when  they  are  generally  noisiest ;  but  they 
have  gone  to  bed  —  the  sparrows  and  the 
finches,  the  snatchers  and  the  snatched-from, 
are  equal  in  the  article  of  sleep.  That  is  be 
cause  they  feel  the  touch  of  autumn.  How 
beautiful  it  is,  in  spite  of  its  sadness,  this  first 
touch  of  autumn  —  it  is  like  sad  distant  music. 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

Can  you  analyse  it,  can  you  explain  it  ?  There 
is  no  chill,  it  is  quite  warm,  and  yet  one  knows 
somehow  that  autumn  is  here.  The  birds 
know  it,  and  have  gone  to  bed.  In  another 
month  they  will  be  flying  away,  to  Africa  and 
the  Hesperides  —  all  of  them  except  the  spar 
rows,  who  stay  all  winter.  I  wonder  how  they 
get  on  during  the  winter,  with  no  goldfinches 
to  snatch  from  ?  " 

She  turned  to  Peter  with  a  look  of  respect 
ful  enquiry,  as  one  appealing  to  an  authority 
for  information. 

"  Oh,  they  snatch  from  each  other,  during 
the  winter,"  he  explained.  "  It  is  thief  rob 
thief,  when  honest  victims  are  not  forthcoming. 
And  —  what  is  more  to  the  point — they  must 
keep  their  beaks  in,  against  the  return  of  the 
goldfinches  with  the  spring.'* 

The  Duchessa  —  for  I  scorn  to  deceive  the 
trustful  reader  longer ;  and  (as  certain  fines 
moucheSy  despite  rny  efforts  at  concealment, 
may  ere  this  have  suspected)  the  mysterious 
lady  was  no  one  else — the  Duchessa  gaily 
laughed. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  the  goldfinches  will  re 
turn  with  the  spring.  But  is  n't  that  rather 
308 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

foolish  of  them  ?  If  I  were  a  goldfinch,  I  think 
I  should  make  my  abode  permanent  in  the 
sparrowless  south." 

"  There  is  no  sparrowless  south,"  said  Peter. 
"  Sparrows,  alas,  abound  in  every  latitude  ;  and 
the  farther  south  you  go,  the  fiercer  and  bolder 
and  more  impudent  they  become.  In  Africa 
and  the  Hesperides,  which  you  have  men 
tioned,  they  not  infrequently  attack  the  cara 
vans,  peck  the  eyes  out  of  the  camels,  and  are 
sometimes  even  known  to  carry  off  a  man,  a 
whole  man,  vainly  struggling  in  their  inexor 
able  talons.  There  is  no  sparrowless  south. 
But  as  for  the  goldfinches  returning  —  it  is  the 
instinct  of  us  bipeds  to  return.  Plumed  and 
plumeless,  we  all  return  to  something,  what 
though  we  may  have  registered  the  most 
solemn  vows  to  remain  away." 

He  delivered  his  last  phrases  with  an  accent, 
he  punctuated  them  with  a  glance,  in  which 
there  may  have  lurked  an  intention. 

But  the  Duchessa  did  not  appear  to  notice  it. 

"  Yes  —  true  —  so  we  do,"  she  assented 
vaguely.  "And  what  you  tell  me  of  the 
sparrows  in  the  Hesperides  is  very  novei  and 
impressive  —  unless,  indeed,  it  is  a  mere  trav- 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

eller's  tale,  with  which  you  are  seeking  to  prac 
tise  upon  my  credulity.  But  since  I  find  you 
in  this  communicative  vein,  will  you  not  push 
complaisance  a  half-inch  further,  and  tell  me 
what  that  thing  is,  suspended  there  in  the  sky 
above  the  crest  of  the  Cornobastone  —  that 
pale  round  thing,  that  looks  like  the  spectre 
of  a  magnified  half-crown  ?  " 

Peter  turned  to  the  quarter  her  gaze  in 
dicated. 

"  Oh,  that,"  he  said, "  is  nothing.  In  frank 
ness,  it  is  only  what  the  vulgar  style  the 


moon." 


"  How  odd,"  said  she.  "  I  thought  it  was 
what  the  vulgar  style  the  moon." 

And  they  both  laughed  again. 

The  Duchessa  moved  a  little ;  and  thus  she 
uncovered,  carved  on  the  back  of  her  marble 
bench,  and  blazoned  in  red  and  gold,  a  coat 
of  arms. 

She  touched  the  shield  with  her  finger. 

"  Are  you  interested  in  canting  heraldry  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  There  is  no  country  so  rich  in  il 
as  Italy.  These  are  the  arms  of  the  Farfalla, 
the  original  owners  of  this  property*  Orx 
acme  of  twenty  roses  gules ;  the  crest,  on  a 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

rose  gules,  a  butterfly  or,  with  wings  displayed  5 
and  the  motto — -how  could  the  heralds  ever 
have  sanctioned  such  an  un heraldic  and  un- 
heroic  motto  ?  — • 

Rosa  amorosa, 

Farfalla  giojosa* 

Mi  cantano  al  cuore 

La  gioja  c  1*  amore. 

They  were  the  great  people  of  this  region  for 
countless  generations,  the  Farfalla,  They  were 
Princes  of  Ventirose  and  Patricians  of  Milan* 
And  then  the  last  of  them  was  ruined  at  Monte 
Carlo,  and  killed  himself  there,  twenty-odd 
years  ago.  That  is  how  all  their  gioja  and 
amore  ended,,  It  was  the  case  of  a  butterfly 
literally  broken  upon  a  wheel*  The  estate  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  Jews,  as  everything  more 
or  less  does  sooner  or  later;  and  they —  if  you 
can  believe  me  —  they  were  going  to  turn  the 
castle  into  an  hotel,  into  one  of  those  monstrous 
modern  hotels,  for  other  Jews  to  come  to, 
when  I  happened  to  hear  of  it,  and  bought  it. 
Fancy  turning  that  splendid  old  castle  into  a 
Jew-infested  hotel  !  It  is  one  of  the  few  castles 
in  Italy  that  have  a  ghost  Oh,  but  a  quite 
authentic  ghost  It  is  called  the  White  Page 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

—  ilPaggio  Bianco  di  Ventirose*  It  is  the  ghost; 
of  a  boy  about  sixteen.  He  walks  on  the  ram 
parts  of  the  old  keep,  and  looks  off  towards 
the  lake,  as  if  he  were  watching  a  boat,  and 
sometimes  he  waves  his  arms,  as  if  he  were  sig 
nalling.  And  from  head  to  foot  he  is  perfectly 
white,  like  a  statue,  I  have  never  seen  him 
myself;  but  so  many  people  say  they  have,  I 
cannot  doubt  he  is  authentic.  And  the  Jews 
wanted  to  turn  this  haunted  castle  into  an  hotel  I 
.  .  „  As  a  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  Far  fall  a, 
I  take  pains  to  see  that  their  arms,  which  are 
carved,  as  you  see  them  here,  in  at  least  a  hun 
dred  different  places,  are  re-metalled  and  re- 
tinctured  as  often  as  time  and  the  weather 
render  it  necessary/' 

She  looked  towards  the  castle,  while  she 
spoke;  and  now  she  rose,  with  the  design, 
perhaps,  of  moving  in  that  direction. 

Peter  felt  that  the  moment  had  come  for 
actualities, 

"  Jt  seems  improbable,"  he  began,  *cand 
I  *m  afraid  you  will  think  there  is  a  tiresome 
monotony  in  my  purposes;  but  I  am  here 
again  to  return  Cardinal  Udeschini's  snuff-box. 
He  lett  it  in  my  garden/* 
3** 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

"Oh  —  ?'*  said  the  Duchessa.  "Yes,  he 
thought  he  must  have  left  it  there.  He  is 
always  mislaying  it.  Happily,  he  has  another, 
for  emergencies.  It  was  very  good  of  you 
to  trouble  to  bring  it  back." 

She  gave  a  light  little  laugh. 

"  I  may  also  improve  this  occasion/'  Peter 
abruptly  continued,  "  to  make  my  adieux.  I 
shall  be  leaving  for  England  in  a  few  days 
now." 

The  Duchessa  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"  Really  ? "  she  said.  «  Oh,  that  is  too  bad/' 
she  added,  by  way  of  comment  "  October, 
you  know,  is  regarded  as  the  best  month  of  all 
the  twelve,  in  this  lake  country." 

a  Yes,  I  know  it/'  Peter  responded  regret 
fully. 

"  And  it  is  a  horrid  month  in  England,"  she 
went  on. 

<c  It  is  an  abominable  month  in  England/' 
he  acknowledged. 

"  Here  it  is  blue,  like  larkspur,  and  all 
fragrant  of  the  vintage,  and  joyous  with  the 
songs  of  the  vintagers/'  she  said.  "  There  it  is 
dingy-brown,  and  songless,  and  it  smells  of 
smoke.9* 

Jt* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

*YeSj,"  he  agreed 

w  But  you  are  a  sportsman  ?     You  go  in  for 
shooting  ?  "  she  conjectured* 

"  No,"  he  answered  l€  1  gave  up  shooting 
years  ago." 

*  Oh  —  ?     Hunting,  then  ?  " 

"  I  hate  hunting.  One  is  always  getting 
rolled  on  by  one's  horse." 

"  Ah,  I  see.     It  —  it  will  be  golf,  perhaps  ? sv 

"  No,  it  is  not  even  golf." 

"  Don't  tell  me  it  is  football  ?  H 

"  Do  I  look  as  if  it  were  football  ?  *' 

*c  ft  is  sheer  homesickness,  in  fine?  You 
are  grieving  for  the  purple  of  your  native 
heather  ?  " 

**  There  is  scarcely  any  heather  in  my  native 
county.  No,"  said  Peter,  <c  no.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  it  is  the  usual  thing.  It  is  an  histoire 
de  femme" 

"  I  might  have  guessed  it,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  is  still  that  everlasting  woman,*' 

"  That  everlasting  woman  —  ?  M  Peter 
faltered, 

*'-  To  be  sure,**  said  she  M  The  woman  you 
are  always  going  on  about  The  woman  of 
your  novel  Thtt  woman,  in  short-/* 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

And  she  produced  from  behind  her  back  a 
hand  that  she  had  kept  there,  and  held  up  for 
his  inspection  a  grey-and-gold  bound  book. 

"  My  novel  —  ?  "  faltered  he,  (But  the  sight 
of  it,  in  her  possession,  in  these  particular  cir 
cumstances,  gave  him  a  thrill  that  was  not  a 
thrill  of  despair.) 

"  Tour  novel,"  she  repeated,  smiling  sweetly, 
and  mimicking  his  tone.  Then  she  made  a 
little  moue.  "  Of  course,  I  have  known  that 
you  were  your  friend  Felix  Wildmay,  from  the 
outset*" 

ic  Oh,"  said  Peter,  in  a  feeble  sort  of  gasp^ 
looking  bewildered.  "  You  have  known  that 
from  the  outset  ? "  And  his  brain  seemed  to 
reel. 

"  Yes,"  said  she, <c  of  course.  Where  would 
the  fun  have  been,  otherwise  ?  And  now  you 
are  going  away,  back  to  her  shrine,  to  renew 
your  worship.  I  hope  you  will  find  the  cour 
age  to  offer  her  your  hand." 

Peter's  brain  was  reeling.  But  here  was  the 
opportunity  of  his  life. 

"You  give  me  courage,"  he  pronounced^ 
with  sudden  daring*  "  You  are  in  a  position 
to  help  me  with  her.  And  since  you  know  so 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

much,  I  should  like  you  to  know  more.  I 
should  like  to  tell  you  who  she  is." 

"  One  should  be  careful  where  one  bestows 
one's  confidences,"  she  warned  him ;  but  there 
was  something  in  her  eyes,  there  was  a  glow,  a 
softness,  that  seemed  at  the  same  time  to  invite 
them. 

"No/'  he  said,  "better  than  telling  you 
who  she  is,  I  will  tell  you  where  I  first  saw  her. 
It  was  at  the  Fra^ais,  in  December,  four  years 
ago,  a  Thursday  night,  a  subscription  night. 
She  sat  in  one  of  the  middle  boxes  of  the  first 
tier.  She  was  dressed  in  white.  Her  com 
panions  were  an  elderly  woman,  English  I 
think,  in  black,  who  wore  a  cap ;  and  an  old 
man,  with  white  moustache  and  imperial,  who 
looked  as  if  he  might  be  a  French  officer. 
And  the  play  —  " 

He  broke  off,  and  looked  at  the  Duchessa. 
She  kept  her  eyes  down. 

"  Yes  —  the  play  ? "  she  questioned,  in  a  low 
voice,  after  a  little  wait. 

"The  play  was  Monsieur  Pailleron's  Le 
monde  ou  Ton  s* ennuie"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  still  keeping  her  eyes 
down.  Her  voice  was  still  very  low.  But 
316 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box 

there  was  something  in  it  that  made  Peter's 
heart  leap. 

"  The  next  time  I  saw  her,"  he  began.  .  .  . 
But  then  he  had  to  stop.  He  felt  as  if  the 
beating  of  his  heart  must  suffocate  him. 

"  Yes  —  the  next  time  ?  "  she  questioned. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.     He  began  anew  — 

"  The  next  time  was  a  week  later,  at  the 
Opera.  They  were  giving  Lohengrin.  She 
was  with  the  same  man  and  woman,  and  there 
was  another,  younger  man.  She  had  pearls 
round  her  neck  and  in  her  hair,  and  she  had  a 
cloak  lined  with  white  fur.  She  left  before  the 
opera  was  over.  I  did  not  see  her  again  until 
the  following  May,  when  I  saw  her  once  or  twice 
in  London,  driving  in  the  Park.  She  was 
always  with  the  same  elderly  Englishwoman, 
but  the  military-looking  old  Frenchman  had 
disappeared.  And  then  I  saw  her  once  more, 
a  year  later,  in  Paris,  driving  in  the  Bois." 

The  Duchessa  kept  her  eyes  down.  She 
did  not  speak. 

Peter  waited  as  long  as  flesh  and  blood  could 
wait,  looking  at  her. 

"  Well  ? "  he  pleaded,  at  last.     «  That  is  all. 
Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  ?" 
3*7 


The  Cardinal's  Snuff~Box 

She  raised  her  eyes,  and  for  the  tiniest  frac< 
tion  of  a  second  they  gave  themselves  to  his, 
Then  she  dropped  them  again. 

"  You  are  sure,"  she  asked,  "  you  are  per 
fectly  sure  that  when,  afterwards,  you  met  her, 
and  came  to  know  her  as  she  really  is  —  you 
are  perfectly  sure  there  was  no  disappointment?" 

"Disappointment!"  cried  Peter.  "She  is 
in  every  way  immeasurably  beyond  anything 
that  I  was  capable  of  dreaming.  Oh,  if  you 
could  see  her,  if  you  could  hear  her  speak,  if 
you  could  look  into  her  eyes  — •  if  you  could 
see  her  as  others  see  her — you  would  not  ask 
whether  there  was  a  disappointment.  She 
is  ...  No ;  the  language  is  not  yet  invented, 
in  which  I  could  describe  her." 

The  Duchessa  smiled,  softly,  to  herself. 

**  And  you  are  in  love  with  her  —  more  or 
less?"  she  asked. 

i  "I  love  her  so  that  the  bare  imagination  of 
being  allowed  to  tell  her  of  my  love  almost 
makes  me  faint  with  joy. )  But  it  is  like  the 
story  of  the  poor  squire  who  loved  his  queen. 
She  is  the  greatest  of  great  ladies.  I  am  no 
body.  She  is  so  beautiful,  so  splendid,  and  so 
high  above  me,  it  would  be  the  maddest  pre- 


The  Cardinal's  SnuflF-Box 

sumption  for  me  to  ask  her  for  her  love.  To 
ask  for  the  love  of  my  Queen  !  And  yet  — 
Oh,  I  can  say  no  more.  God  sees  my  heart. 
God  knows  how  I  love  her/' 

"  And  it  is  on  her  account  —  because  you 
think  your  love  is  hopeless  —  that  you  are 
going  away,  that  you  are  going  back  to 
England  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  he. 

She  raised  her  eyes  again,  and  again  they 
gave  themselves  to  his.  There  was  something 
in  them,  there  was  a  glow,  a  softness  .  0  . 

"  Don't  go,"  she  said* 


Up  at  the  castle  —  Peter  had  hurried  down 
to  the  villa,  dressed,  and  returned  to  the  castle 
to  dine  —  he  restored  the  snuff-box  to  Cardinal 
Udeschini. 

"  I  am  trebly  your  debtor  for  it,"  said  the 
Cardinal* 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  PINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


MAR   28  1939 


14  IS45 


: 

• 


MAR  14' 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRA 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


